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I 


UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 

OR, 



v BY 

M. W. SAVAGE, ESQ., 

AUTHOR OP “THE BATCHELOR OF ALBANY ” “ MY UNCLE TIIE CURATE,” 

ETC. 



D. W. EVANS & COMPANY, 

677 BROADWAY. 

1800. 

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CONTENTS 


* 


BOOK THE FIRST. 

v CHAPTER I. 

BirtI and early education of Reuben . . • 

CHAPTER H. 

In which several friends of the family are introduced to the reader 

CHAPTER m. 

The night defore Reuben went to school : how his hair was cut, and 
who was the hair-cutter • . . • • 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mrs. Medlicott borrows Mrs. Winning’s French maid. Reuben leaves 
home, and other important incidents . • • 


BOOK THE SECOND. 


CHAPTER I. 

The school at Hereford. Reuben renews an old intimacy and makes 
several new acquaintances . • • • 

CHAPTER II. 

Mrs. Barsac’s ball • JP'y . • • • 


CHAPTER III. 

More festivity at Mrs. Barsac’s • 


CHAPTER IV. 

The vicar’s account of the Barsacs. Reuben shows a talent for music. 
His first and his last pugilistic contest ♦ 


pash 

8 

11 

10 

25 

83 

41 

47 


54 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


PACT 

CHAPTER V. 

A chapter of good a<fvice and of good intentions • .63 

CHAPTER VI. 

Chiefly occupied with the ill behaviour of an old gentleman and the 

discomfort it occasioned a young one . • .67 

CHAPTER VII. 

# 

Reuben spends a memorable Sunday with his grandfather, and all the 

Barsacs . . • . . .71 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Reuben sits to a fair artist for his picture. Who interrupted the sit- 
tings . . . . . . . 8L 

CHAPTER IX. . 

An afflicting discovery, which ought to have been made sooner • 85 

CHAPTER X. 

Reuben gets an insight into the private life of his grandfather . 87 

CHAPTER XI. 

How Reuben celebrated his grandfather’s marriage • • ;6 


BOOK THE THIRD. 

CHAPTER I. 

Chapter of retrospects. Reuben is bored : his parents are Pigwid- 

geoned . . . . . . .103 

CHAPTER II. 

Reuben’s recovery and the joy it occasioned • • • 112 

CHAPTER III. 

A bold stroke for a dinner. How the apothecary got back to the vi- 
carage, and how he turned the vicar out of it . . 118 

CHAPTER IV. 

A few pleasant days with the doctor. Reuben receives the honours 

of a prima donna, and the whole party set out on a tour . 124 

CHAPTER V. 

The Medlicotts on their travels. Reuben buys a Welch grammar, 
makes the acquaintance of a Welch bard, and falls in with some 
■ fair friends 


128 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER VL 

Henry Winning and Hyacinth Primrose join the expedition 


BOOK THE FOURTH. 

CHAPTER I. 

Departure for college . . • • • 

CHAPTER II. 

Hero worship • . . • • 

CHAPTER m. 

Mrs. Medlicott has a lucid interval. A storm succeeded by a calm 
CHAPTER IV. 

The dean at the table . . . • • 

CHAPTER V. 

A new employment . . . • • 

« CHAPTER VL 

The sermon on conscience. An episode • • 

* CHAPTER VII. 

Mr. Medlicott meets one who is as versatile as himself • 


BOOK THE FIFTH. 


Burlington Gardens . 

CHAPTER L 

• • • 

• 

Not important, but not long 

CHAPTER IL 

+ • • 

• 

A social revolution • 

CHAPTER IIL 

• • • 

• 


CHAPTER IV. 


The school of rhetoric 

• 

• 

The Professor’s wife . 

CHAPTER V. 

• • • 

• 


V 

FAQ! 

135 

145 

152 

. 157 

. 162 

• 169 

. 173 

. 177 

• 184 

. 191 

• 195 

• 202 

• 209 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK THE SIXTH. 

CHAPTER I. 

A glimpse of glory . . • 

CHAPTER II. 

Thoughts that brej.thq and words that burn • 
CHAPTER III. 

The apostasy . . • 

CHAPTER IV. 

The tremendous demonstration . • 

CHAPTER V. 

A chapter of consequences . . • 


BOOK THE SEVENTH. 

CHAPTER I. 

Mr. Medlicott quarrels with the church . • 

CHAPTER II. 

Mr. Medlicott is called to the bar . • 


CHAPTER III. 


A rival orator 


CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. Medlicott sympathises with the Poles, and is naturally led from 
one sympathy to another ..... 

CHAPTER V. 

How Mr. Medlicott fell among the Quakers . . . 


BOOK THE EIGHTH. 

CHAPTER I. 

The tobacconist of Chichester . . . 


PAGE 

215 

221 

225 

280 

287 

242 

247 

251 

258 

268 

v 

280 


A summer eve ling’s walk 


CHAPTER H. 


286 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER III. 

Pleasure before business 

• 

e 


vii 

PAGH 

292 

CHAPTER IV. 

Friends in council 

• 

• 

• 

297 

CHAPTER V. 

Sirach, the raven 

• 

% 

• 

501 

CHAPTER VI. 

In which a discovery is made that surprises ev< 

srybody 

• 

• 

803 

CHAPTER VII. 

Mr. Medlicott receives the deputation • 

• 

• 

• 

811 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mr. Medlicott gives his friends a treat . 

• 

• 

• 

819 

CHAPTER IX. 

Wheels within wheels 

• 

• 

• 

827 

CHAPTER X. 

How the contest was conducted • 

• 

• 

• 

830 

CHAPTER XI. 

The conquering hero comes • . 


• 

• 

837 

CHAPTER XII. 
A chapter of outrages on all sides 

• 

• 

• 

845 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A political victory followed by a domestic triumph 

• 

• 

851 


BOOK THE NINTH. 

CHAPTER I. 

The ascent of a sky-rocket . . • 

CHAPTER II. 

Airs and affectations. Discords and reconcilements 

CHAPTER III. 

A scene in Kensington Gardens . • 


• 858 

. 865 

. 878 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. MedUcuit visits the New World . • 

• • 

I an 

380 

CHAPTER V. 

Peace proves more fatal than war . • 

• • 

885 

CHAPTER VI. 

In which Fortune promises to compensate the vicar for her treatment 
of his son ..«••• 

89’ 

CHAPTER VII. 

Mr. Medlicott in office . . • 

• • 

896 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mr. Medlicott renounces the errors of beef and mutton 

• • 

401 

CHAPTER IX. 

In which another bubble bursts • • 

• • 

408 


BOOK THE TENTH. 

CHAPTER I, 


The last effort of genius : . . 

• 

• 419 

CHAPTER II. 

Folly interrupted by sorrow . • • 

• 

• 425 

CHAPTER HI. 

Progress of mental infirmity • . • 

• 

• 481 

CHAPTER IV. 

The last folly and the last speech • • 

• 

• 484 


THE 


UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

OR. THE COMING MAN. 


BOOK THE FIRST. 


' 

“ Uno ore omnes omnia 
Bona dicere, et laudare fortunas meas 
Qui gnatum haberem tali ingenio praeditum.” 

Terence. Andr. Act L Sc. 1. 

All the world 

With one accord said all kind things, and praised 
My happy fortune, to possess a son 
So* good, so liberally disposed. 

Coleman'* Translation, 


ARGUMENT. 

If the world is a stage, and human life a drama,- a prefatory chapter to a 
biography must be as proper as a prologue to a play. The object in both 
cases is much the same ; to establish a fair understanding between the 
author and his audience; in other words, by a little-art and gentle pre- 
paration, to bring the spectator, or the reader, into a state of mind akin 
to what professors of mesmerism mean by being en rapport with their 
patients. In the opera, this is accomplished by the device of the over- 
ture, which gives a sort of musical abstract of the sentiments and pas- 
sions of the coming performance; now melting in harmony with the 
amorous scenes of the story, again swelling into unison with its sterner 
passages ; then, with a full orchestral crash, vaguely foreboding a certain 
catastrophe, either of a tragic or a comic nature. Upon the same princi- 
ple of composition, the overture or preface to a human life ought to aim 
at representing, in some allusive, slight, rapid, and sketchy way, its lead- 
ing vicissitudes and characteristics. Adopting the idea of an overture, 
we should request the reader of the following pages to imagine the 
orchestra thronged with a greater variety of instrument^ of all sorts. 


2 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 

than Nebuchadnezzar had in his band: — harps, dulcimers, flutes, sack- 
huts, psalteries, and all kinds of music, ancient and modern, which must 
farther be conceived to play to the mind’s ear as miscellaneous a concerto 
sis was ever composed, consisting of snatches of very many tunes, with a 
profusion of variations. Should this illustration not be sufficiently illus- 
trative, let a pantomime be supposed to follow and harlequin perform his 
series of Christmas tricks and transformations. The motley necromancer 
himself typifies perpetual motion and endless variety ; let the freaks of 
character and the changes of fortune be ever so numerous, he is knight 
v of the shire, and represents them all. 

Or the reader may, if he' please, or thinks it worth the trouble, sum- 
mon up and cause to pass in procession before him, all the innumerable 
images, types, and figures of versatility and mutability, such as chameleons, 
rainbows, weathercocks, kaleidoscopes, Joseph’s coat, or a herald’s tabard, 
the clime of England, the constitutions of France, a Brougham, an opal, 
a woman, or the moon. He may spin out the pageant, if he like, until 
i t is tedious as my Lord Mayor’s show ; only let it be equally noisy, with 
plenty of drums and trumpets, especially speaking-trumpets ; for, as 
Montaigne saith truly, “ this is a world of babble,” aud our Coming Man 
had more than his fair share of it. 

By way of argument to our first book, let it suffice to say, that the 
subject of our story (whom we deliberately refrain from styling its hero) 
is born herein ; nor can there be a doubt that he made a speech upon 
the occasion, and one that was exceedingly well received by the audience, 
although it was altogether unpremeditated, and no report of it has been 
preserved. Escaping all the fatalities that often cut the mysterious 
thread of life while it is yet a short one, he graduates in the nursery 
with eclat, and, arriving at the green age of thirteen or fourteen, is sent 
to a public school, to him a momentous event, though, in itself, no start- 
ling or extraordinary occurrence. Among our earliest acquaintances, as 
well as his, will be a reverend father and an accomplished mother ; we 
«hall pop upon the gentleman cultivating his cabbages, and surprise the 
idy in her white dimity, green spectacles, and blue stockings. Possibly, 
>i' the father had cultivated his cabbages less, and his son more, the latter 
might have succeeded as well as the early York did, or the brocoli. 
Possibly, too, if the mother’s hose had been of another hue, it might have 
changed the complexion of the boy’s fortunes. But a truce to possibili- 
ties. It is time for our overture, or prologue, to end, and the curtain 
rise upon the performance, such as it is ; for we know not well how to 
describe it, unless in the words of Polonius : “ Comedy, history, pastoral, 
pastoral-comical, comical historical-pastoral, scene undividable, or poem 
unlimited*" 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


3 


CHAPTER I. 

BIRTH AND EARLY EDUCATION OP REUBEN. 

Mr. Reuben Medlicott, -whose variegated life we are about to 
relate in the following pages, was the only son of a clergyman in 
the neighbourhood of Chichester, who, neither possessing power- 
ful connexions, parliamentary interest, or any higher talents than 
some classical taste, and a modicum of dry humour, enjoyed no 
richer preferment in the Church than the vicarage of Underwood, 
worth about three hundred pounds a-year, including the value 
of the glebe, and a small, but pretty and comfortable house upon 
it. The Vicar was a better gardener than theologian, and more 
a respecter of learning than a learned man himself. He consi- 
dered himself, however, a good, plain, classical scholar, and was 
disposed to prize that specie^ of erudition more than any other. 
His wife, indeed, had the advantage over him in point of variety 
of attainments. She was the daughter of Doctor Wyndham, 
an eminent dignitary of the Church, who had been distinguished 
when a young man at Cambridge among men of science, but 
having subsequently deserted the tferene study of mathematics 
for the more exciting pursuits of controversial divinity, was sup- 
posed to have been making a push for the mitre ; and some 
people thought he had not yet withdrawn his eyes from that 
captivating and brilliant object. Dean Wyndham, however, had 
not been very unsuccessful in his professional career, even as 
things were, lor besides the deanery of a cathedral town in the 
north of England, he was incumbent of a good living near Here- 
ford : and the additional possession of a fair sinecure in the dio- 
cese of Chichester, completed his resemblance to those prosperous 
bods of the Church, who are described by Dryden as 

“ bearing on their shield, 

Three steeples argent on a sable field.” 

The veteran pluralist was now a widower, and led a sort of 
vagrant life, to and fro among his various preferments, something 
like the wandering shepherds we read of in Arabia, or the steppes 
of Tartary. When he was supposed to be at Hereford, he was 
away in Northumberland, and when a letter was addressed to 
him in Northumberland, an answer was returned from Chichester, 


4 : 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


Besides lie kept up his ancient connexion with the University, 
where he generally spent a month or two in the height of the 
academic season, with one or other of his old cronies. 

But to return to the mother of our Reuben : she had erudi- 
tion on both sides of the house, for her mother had heen one of 
the femmes savantes of her day; she had written a book on edu- 
cation, corresponded with Hannah More, and left an unfinished 
treatise behind her on the Academic Institutions of the Spartans. 
It was surprising Mr. Medlicott made the choice he did between 
Catherine and Elinor Wyndham, the two daughters of the Dean 
by this learned lady ; for Catherine was more suited to him, and 
better qualified in every respect for the wife of a simple country 
clergyman ; but the fact was, that Catherine Wyndham, having 
nothing to recommend her but her good looks and sweet dispo- 
sition, was neglected by her mother, or rather systematically kept 
in the background, while Elinor, who walked in the maternal 
footsteps, and resembled her both in mind and person, was trotted 
out and trumpeted upon all occasions. However, she made a 
bad hit after all in the matrimonial way ; for with her literary 
pretensions, she ought at least to have netted a senior wrangler, 
or trapped a regius professor, and she was therefore considered 
to have actually thrown herself away upon Mr. Medlicott, who 
had neither university reputation, nor interest in the Church. 
She married him, too, against the wishes of both her parents; by 
her mother she was never forgiven, and her father did not relent 
until her husband obtained his small living through the influence 
of a patrician schoolfellow, which did not happen until after he 
had been married for several years. 

Catherine Wyndham remained single until she was no longer 
in her premidre jeunesse, and then she married Mr. Mountjoy, a 
man of considerable fortune, who dying in the third year of their 
union (which had not been blessed with offspring), left her bloom- 
ing and independent, in the possession of a handsome income, 
which no woman in the kingdom deserved better, for no woman 
could have made a more amiable and liberal use of it. 

But poor Mrs. Mountjoy was, in literary attainments, a mere 
nobody; she knew a good deal about men, but little or nothing 
about books. It was here that her sister outshone her. The 
difficulty is to say what Elinor Wyndham, or Mrs. Medlicott, did 
not either know, try to know, or wish to seem to know. She 
knew twenty times as many things, or something about them, 
as the Vicar, her husband ; but so far was this superiority on 


5 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 

her part from impressing him with due admiration of the female 
faculties, that he began to entertain something approaching to 
contempt for them, before he was many years a married man. 
He was particularly disposed to this way of thinking when he 
found his wife meddling with the ancient authors, and used to 
say sarcastically to his intimate friends, that to see a woman 
reading Greek or Latin, filled him with spite and envy ; “ for it 
was evident she must have exhausted all the stores of knowledge 
and entertainment to be found in the living languages, before slio 
was reduced to the necessity of resorting to the dead ones.” 

The Vicar divided his time, for the most part, between his 
parish, his garden, and his small collection of books: a few 
standard works on divinity, from which there is reason to think 
he purloined his sermons, and now and then a play of Terence, 
or a dialogue of Lucian, to keep up his knowledge for the benefit 
of his son. Horticulture was perhaps his favourite occupation, 
and he did not addict himself to it the less because his wife con- 
sidered it beneath her attention. In spite of the diversity of 
their tastes however, and a certain quiet conjugal contempt for 
one another, they did not live inharmoniously together. Some- 
times Mrs. Medlicott would even relent from her stern pursuits 
and take a transitory interest in the flowers, or stoop to pick a 
strawberry ; and again, as a meet return for her complaisance, 
the Vicar would sit for a quarter of an hour hearkening, with 
more patience and gravity, than admiration or profit, to his wife’s 
far from luminous elucidations of the secrets of the universe, such 
as polarised light, or the process by which a nebula developes 
itself into a world. It was very provoking, however, that lie 
himself never was tempted to plunge into any of the dazzling 
abysses, into which Mrs. Medlicott led the way, for his encour- 
agement. Such occasional seances generally ended by the Vicar’s 
quoting a verse of the nineteenth psalm, and taking up his hoe 
to earth his kidney beans. 

The Vicarage was as charming a spot as you could wish to 
be born and bred in, if you had a voice in the matter. It had 
that modest, sequestered, pastoral character, which agrees so well 
with the notions we form in the guileless and unsuspecting days 
of our youth, of the life of a Christian shepherd. If it was not 
very ancient, there was an air of antiquity about it which made 
you think of the beautiful old times, when architecture was a 
province of the kingdom of poetry, and they knew how to build 
cottages as well as cathedrals. You might have assigned the 


6 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ) 


incumbency of Chaucer’s “ good parson” as the probable date of 
its erection : or, if belonging to a much later period, at least have 
guessed it to have been planned by Milton and built expressly 
for Lycidas. It stood close to the roadside, not one of your 
broad, level, dusty, glaring causeways, but a zigzag, up-and-down, 
primrosed by-road, always surprising you with some new pictu- 
resque peep at every rapid turn. The house in its structure was 
a very jewel of irregularity, with such fantastic gables, such quaint 
grey chimneys, and windows, such a curious jumble of wood, 
brick, and stone, mossed over in one place, ivied in another, 
matted with roses in another, and upon one flank quite overhung 
with a wilderness of laurels, chestnuts, hawthorns, and laburnums, 
that had a company of young poets and painters, in the heyday 
of their imagination, turned masons and carpenters in a freak of 
fancy, they could scarcely have produced anything more exquisite 
in the Anglo- Arcadian style. It was just the sort of house which 
youthful couples, newly united by Holy Church, heigh-ho’d for 
as they passed, and vowed they preferred a thousand times to 
any castle, hall, or mansion in the land. Older people, weary 
of the world, coveted precisely such a peaceful nook to close their 
days in. The veteran soldier desired no better fortune than to 
recline in his old age under those superb laurels ; nay, even the 
passing lawyer in the height of his business and reputation, 
mused with himself, and doubted whether he would not have had 
a happier lot as Vicar of Underwood, and the humble tenant of 
so sweet an abode. 

When Master Reuben came into the world, you may imagine 
with what intense anxiety a woman like Mrs. Medlicott must 
have watched the growth of his little faculties. To prepare her- 
self to preside properly over his early instruction, she went 
through a course of study that would frighten many a hard- 
working scholar of the Universities : and she laid down a course 
of reading for her husband also, but she might as well have 
spared herself the trouble, for the Vicar had no original views 
whatever upon the subject of education, and thought John Locke 
had said every thing that was to be said about it. There was, 
however, one point in which the parents were agreed, namely, 
in praying that Reuben, when arrived at years of maturity, wouid 
take after his grandfather, rather than his father. The Vicar had 
an extraordinary and almost servile veneration for Dean Wynd- 
ham, who was in his eyes the greatest divine and almost the 
greatest man in England. He had wr tten profoundly when a 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


? 

very young man upon some abstruse mathematical subjects ; 
later in life he had published a learned commentary on the dia- 
logues of Plato ; and he was now, in his green and vigorous old 
age, hurling his thunderbolts at the Church of Pome, and rous- 
ing the Protestant spirit of the country to resist the admission of 
Roman Catholics into the legislature. Nor ought it perhaps to 
be left altogether out of account that the Dean was supposed 
(as we have already intimated) to have pretty fair prospects of 
advancement to a bishopric, which could not but be a joyful 
event to all his kindred and connexions in holy orders. 

Happy it unquestionably would have been for the Vicar’s 
son, had some hard-headed man like Doctor Wyndham been the 
director of his studies and the moulder of his character. For the 
early education of our hero was a curious hash of all conceivable 
methods, systems, theories and regimes. In short there was no 
system in it at all, or it had the defects and inconveniences of all 
systems. This misfortune would probably not have befallen him, 
had either the Vicar, or his wife ruled the roast, for then the ideas 
of one or the other would have prevailed, and something like a 
system, right or wrong, would have been the result; but the 
energies of this respactable couple were so nearly balanced that 
neither had the ascendancy for any considerable length of time; 
now the father was supreme, now the mother had her way ; in 
fact the scale of authority and influence went up and down like 
a game of see-saw played by two urchins in a saw-pit. When 
Mr. Medlicott was up, Latin and Greek went up with him, gram- 
mar and prosody, Alexander, Scipio, Scylla and Charybdis. 
When the mother’s end of the beam was aloft, came the turn of 
modern languages and what she called the arts and sciences ; a 
splash of French, an occasional twist at German, sometimes even 
a bout of geology and astronomy, and every now and then a 
great hullabulloo for a few days about arithmetic. Mrs. Medli- 
cott had a crotchet in her head (which she got from the Phre- 
nologists, who were great oracles with her), that as the organs or 
the faculties were many in number, the provisions or exercises 
for them ought to be equally numerous : in fact that the best 
system of instruction was the most diffused and multifarious. 
Mr. Medlicott on the other hand was all for concentration ; and 
each had a copious collection of authorities and dogmas, “ wise 
saws and modern instances,” ’n support of the doctrine that each 
held. Thus the boy was in fact palled backwards and forwards, 
from one parent to the other, the lessons of neither making an 


8 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


impression of much value or permanence ; except that between 
them both he early laid in a wonderful stock of words and phrases, 
the foundation of the character he subsequently acquired as a 
talker of the first magnitude. And there was just the same 
regular irregularity in hours and habits. In the dark months, 
Mrs; Medlicott would sometimes conceive a sudden and irresistible 
passion for early rising, and the maids were called up at cock- 
crow of frosty mornings, to kindle the school-room fire, or a fire 
in some other part of the house, for not even the room where 
Reuben received his education was a settled place. He remem- 
bered having learned his Latin grammar in all manner of cham- 
bers, and he recollected having once been lectured on geography 
in the kitchen, the cook asking his father to show her one of the 
West Indian islands on the globe, where her son who was a sol- 
dier, was serving in his regiment. On the other hand, in the 
middle of summer, the business of the day would often not com- 
mence until the dew was off the grass. Then, there w r as a con- 
tinual shifting of Reuben’s meal-times ; the hours that suited the 
mother’s convenience never accommodating the father, and the 
regulations insisted on by him during his brief period of autho- 
rity, being invariably reversed the moment the next counter- 
revolution placed the dynasty in her hands. The effect of all this 
was that to the eye of a visitor in the house for a short period, it 
seemed the very model of order and discipline, so that people 
who were not deep in the secrets of the Vicarage used to leave 
it mightily pleased ; extol Mr. and Mrs. Medlicott highly, and 
wish they could manage things with half the regularity in their 
own houses. 

But the education of Reuben was at the mercy of other in- 
fluences besides those already mentioned, and still with the same 
unlucky tendency to distraction. At certain intervals his parents 
would both suddenly discover that neither one nor the other was 
the proper person to conduct his education, and that he ought to go 
to school, or have a tutor or governess. Between eight and nine 
he was the scholar of an old Quaker schoolmistress, named Hannah 
Elopkins, who kept an infant seminary in Chichester, where she 
taught small children of both sexes to knit and sit upon forms, 
%s mut‘6 as if they were at meeting. She may have taught Reu- 
ben the former art, but as to silence, he never was very proficient 
~\t it, either under her or any of his other instructors. Then Mrs. 
Winning, of Sunbury, a lady of considerable fortune in the 
parish, had a tutor at one time for her nephew, Henry Winning, 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


and she was glad to allow Reuben to join him in bis studies, part- 
ly out of friendship for the Vicar, and partly to afford her nephew 
the advantage of a companion, although Reuben was his junior 
by two or three years. This was a very desirable arrangement 
(particularly as Henry Winning was a boy of great promise), 
but it did not last many months ; Mrs. Medlicott interfered in 
the course of tuition in a way that Mrs. Winning disapproved, 
and the wind also happening to shift to the rainy point, Reuben 
caught a cold one day, returning from Sudbury, and domestic 
education was resumed again. 

Had there been coercion in any of these diversified processes, 
our hero would probably have hated books of all kinds, and dis- 
liked all his teachers in turn ; but his love of learning escaped 
this very common danger. He was of so teachable and ductile 
a disposition that he profited to some extent by all the lessons 
he received, and bent like an osier to all the shifting breezes to 
which parental vacillation exposed him. It was equal to Reuben 
whether the parlour was his study, or the pantry ; he got up 
cheerfully at six, and he got up cheerfully at nine ; he could con- 
jugate amo, or decline musa , with Nell churning at his elbow, or 
copy a French exercise while Mopsa was making his mother’s bed. 

In truth, he had a strong natural appetite for knowledge, 
■which made it the more deplorable that the craving was not 
satisfied with method and judgment. The system of variety 
and diffusion was unquestionably that for which the boy himself 
would have voted, for even his mother’s range was not w r ide 
enough for his taste, or his ambition ; he read, or dipped into 
every book within his reach, not positively interdicted ; and as 
to interdicts in such a disorderly place as the Vicarage, they were 
too often revoked, or modified, to be much respected, or very 
punctiliously obeyed. 

In short, there was not a branch, or a twig, of the tree of 
knowledge, within the reach of his feeble wing, on which Reu- 
ben Medlicott had not perched and prattled long before he was 
fully fledged. Far from needing the stimulus of the least sever- 
ity, he outran every expectation of diligence entertained by his 
friends. A still temperament and a delicate frame inclined him 
to prefer even a task by the fireside to almost any amusement 
out of doors. He made toys and bedfellows of his books, and, 
except to force him to take exercise absolutely necessary for his 
health, his parents had never occasion to say a cross word to 
him. 


1 * 


10 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS | 


Atatf sweetness and pliability of character which are so grace- 
ful in a cnitd, and often so much commended, are virtues lean- 
ing to tne side ot faults, and beauties with a principle of weak- 
ness in them. There was visible early in .Reuben’s life a defi- 
ciency of the spirit, and daring so Ripper and so promising in 
boyhood ; there was more of the female than the masculine type 
in his constitution ; his tongue was the most active of his mem- 
bers ; he might rival his grandfather in his stores of learning 
but, unless some signal revolution took place, there seemed very 
little prospect of his equalling either the mental energies, or the 
physical strength of Doctor Wyndham. 

In person the boy, who was now in his thirteenth year, had 
not taken very decidedly after either of his parents. His mother 
was a tall woman, with a pretentious carriage, a high colour, 
and regular, though somewhat hard features, to which the blue 
spectacles she always wore gave a didactic, and decidedly mas- 
culine expression. The Vicar was a short, thick man, of a florid 
complexion, and slightly inclined to corpulence, both probably 
the effects of the healthy, but inactive life he led — a life in which 
it was hard to say whether his pastoral labours, his classical 
studies, or his gardening relaxations, were the most or the least 
fatiguing. Reuben, at the age we speak of, was disposed to be 
tall ; but he had none of the fathers or mother’s florid complex- 
ion in his cheeks : he was pale, though the hue was not sickly ; 
his face was long, and almost preternaturally placid ; for, instead 
of the hard expression which he might have taken from the 
female side of the house, Reuben’s physiognomy had inherited a 
certain tone of indecision from his father’s features, and parti- 
cularly about the mouth, which was large and pendent. His 
hair was fair and abundant, still permitted to fall in girlish pro- 
fusion on his shoulders : and his eyes were of his mother’s spe- 
culative azure, with a touch there, too, of the Vicar’s too quiet 
and indeterminate character. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


II 


CHAPTER IL 

m WHICH SEVERAL FRIENDS OF THE FAMILY ARE INTRODUCED TG 

$h'e reader. 

It was not until Reuben had reached the # age when, according 
to the custom of England, boys of his position in life are sent 
from home to receive the benefits, and run the risks of a public 
school, that his grandfather began to manifest any interest, 
either in Mrs. Medlicott, or her son. The Dean had, indeed, 
been gradually softening for some years, but it was a slow pro- 
cess ; he sometimes invited the Vicar and his wife to spend a 
dull Christmas or Easter with him, and occasionally paid them an 
abrupt visit, when his business brought him to Chichester and it 
suited his convenience to quarter himself somewhere in the vicin- 
ity. Latterly, however, the parties had been on more cordial 
terms. The Dean had the feelings of a father au fond , and ho 
was also won by the simplicity of the Vicar’s character, though 
he despised his abilities most heartily. What, however, had prob- 
ably the greatest effect in reconciling him to Mr. Medlicott, was 
the veneration in which the latter held him. It was the delight 
of Doctor Wyndham to receive homage, and inspire awe ; he 
was never very fond of anybody who did not either fear or 
flatter him, and the Vicar possessed the two passports to his 
favour. 

The first concern the Dean showed in his grandson’s welfare, 
betrayed itself in the curt postscript to a letter which the Vicar 
received from him on some indifferent matter of business. “ So 
you have not sent your son to school yet, how long do you mean 
to coddle him at the fire-side ? Send him to school at once, or 
you’ll be sorry for it. There is a very good school at Hereford 
• — kept by Mr. Brough, related to my friends the Barsacs — at 
least it is as good as any other I know.” 

The Dean’s word was law, and it happened that the Hereford 
school was just the one his parents would probably have select- 
ed for Reuben, had they been left to themselves. It was not as 
expensive as the great seminaries, such as Eton and Winchester ; 
the Dean had a living within ten miles of Hereford, which he 
had latterly favoured with his presence more than his other pre- 
ferments ; and, moreover, Mrs. Winning’s nephew 7 , who has been 
already mentioned, was a pupil of Mr. Brough’s at presen* 


12 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ,* 


and was considered a creditable specimen of that gentleman’s 
efficiency as a tutor. The Medlicotts knew something already 
of the Barsacs (the family mentioned by the Dean), through 
Mrs. Mountjoy, who was connected with them by marriage. 
They were wealthy people in the wine-trade, resident at Here- 
ford, and would probably be civil and perhaps useful to Reuben, 
for the sake of the Dean. 

The expense, however, was a grave consideration, for the 
Vicar’s mode of living was of the simplest, and there was no 
very large margin for retrenchment. However, every practicable 
reduction was resolved on, and a variety of presents (marking 
the interest which his friends took in him), materially diminished 
the cost of the boy’s outfit. Mrs. Mountjoy would gladly have 
contributed handsomely to so important an object as her nephew’s 
education, but Mrs. Medlicott was alw r ays averse to receiving 
assistance from her more prosperous sister, with whom she was 
not indeed upon the most cordial terms. As to the Dean, he 
was generous enough of his advice, which he tendered, as we 
have seen, with much more freedom than delicacy ; but though 
he had a large income, as good as that of some bishoprics, and 
was also a widower with his children disposed of, he "was the last 
person in the world to whom the Medlicotts would have applied, 
even in a case of serious embarrassment. Not that he was a 
grasping, or illiberal man either, for he had done bountiful things 
in his time, though apt to diminish the effect of a kindness, by 
an inconsiderate and harsh manner of doing it. But the fact 
was that Doctor Wyndham was one instance, among a thousand 
others, of a rich man who was always more or less involved in 
pecuniary difficulties. He was afflicted with an ungovernable 
mania for building, which, perhaps, has involved more men in 
embarrassed circumstances than any other passion, except ghming. 
His propensities in this way were very well known to his rela- 
tions and friends, but not the extent to which he indulged them. 
Commencing with villas he advanced to ten-aces, and from ter- 
races his passion was beginning to transport him to more spa- 
cious projects of crescents and squares. As to the houses in his 
own immediate possession, of which he had several, besides his 
ecclesiastical residences, he was always altering, enlarging, or 
entirely remodelling them. Indeed he never could pass a night 
in any house, whether his own or a friend’s, without planning 
its reconstruction, or alterations still more expensive. Bricks and 
mortar, in short, never left him the command of a fifty-pound 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


13 


note, and when his pockets were drained to the last shilling, he 
borrowed with as much spirit as he engaged in his other enter- 
prises. 

At the very moment when Mr. Medlicott was what is termed 
“ hard up ” for a small sum of money to meet the first expense 
of his son’s schooling, his seemingly opulent father-in-law was 
actuall} 7 in the neighbourhood, without the knowledge of his 
relations, negotiating a loan of several thousand pounds from a 
wealthy citizen of Chichester. 

The Medlicotts discovered this by the merest accident only a 
few days before Reuben left home for Hereford. The Vicar, in 
fact, wanted a sum of twenty pounds at the moment. 

“ Probably,” said Mrs. Medlicott, “ Mr. Cox could accommo- 
date you.” 

“ With much less difficulty,” said the Vicar, “ than I shall 
have in asking him.” 

Matthew Cox was a remarkable man of his class, and a steady 
friend of Mr. Medlicott, as he was of many a worthy man be- 
sides in his city and neighbourhood. He had carried on the 
trade of a tobacconist in Chichester for many a year, until hav- 
ing made a considerable fortune there, he extended his business 
to London, where his shop in the Poultry was well known in 
the early part of the present century. At a later period of our 
stovy we shall make the acquaintance of this fine specimen of 
the British tradesman ; it is sufficient to add here that he w r as 
■wealthy, influential, benevolent, and liberal. As a tobacconist he 
was chiefly celebrated for his snuff, with which the bishop of the 
diocese filled his box weekly, and which it was even said had 
made his Majesty George III. sneeze upon the throne. Matthew 
had married a quakeress, a relation of Hannah Hopkins, the 
schoolmistress already mentioned ; this, indeed, was the origin 
of his acquaintance with the Vicar, and of his early knowledge 
of Reuben, who had few older recollections than his infant 
sports with Mary Hopkins, Hannah’s daughter, among the 
canisters. 

“ I have a mind to ride into town this evening,” said the 
Vicar. 

He mounted a steady mare he had, and Reuben, (who had 
weighty business in town with his trunkmaker and his tailor,) 
mounted his small pony, and rode into Chichester with his father. 

It was a charming zig-zag ride, alternately sunny and shady, 
from the Vicarage to the part of Chichester where Mr. Medlicott’s 


14 


THE NIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


affairs led him. There is probably now a much straighter road ; 
nay, in all likelihood a railway, which if the present incumbent 
of Underwood prefers to a succession of green lanes, he would 
probably also prefer a station-house for his residence to the pic- 
turesque parsonage described in the foregoing chapter. 

Mr. Cox was in London. This the Vicar learned, without 
entering his shop, from another devoted friend of his, Mr. Broad, 
the cutler, who was in his usual place at that hour of the even- 
ing, on a stone bench, under a canopy of laburnums, immedi- 
ately opposite to the tobacconist’s, and not far from his own 
house. 

“This very afternoon, to Lunnun, sir,” said the cutler, jump- 
ing up to salute Mr. Medlicott and his son, which he did in a 
manner which nobody could see for the first time without being 
extremely diverted. He was a little fellow, about fifty, of a dry 
yellow complexion, and as brisk as a bee. He wore a white hat, 
an enormous mass of white cravat, a swallow- tailed blue body 
coat, the skirts of which almost touched the ground, and breeches 
of nankeen, with long strings of buff ribbon dangling at the 
knees. His stockings were white, and his shoes had steel buckles, 
so that altogether it was a neat costume, although a queer one. 
When he saluted the Vicar, he twitched off his hat with one 
hand, revealing a powdered head of hair, carefully brushed up 
into a peak, like the top of the Jungfrau ; whilst at the same 
time, with the other hand under the skirts of his coat, he per- 
formed the oddest possible antic by way of a bow. 

For so small a rate in aid as the Vicar wanted, Mr. Broad 
suited his purpose as well as anybody else ; so while Reuben 
trotted off to the places where his little affairs led him, Mr. Med- 
licott transacted liis business with the cutler, and that having 
been settled, the Vicar desired to know what news was stirring 
in Chichester. 

“ I presume,” said Mr. Broad, M your reverence knows that 
the Dean is in the neighbourhood.” 

“ No, indeed, I did not,” said the Vicar ; “ we know very 
little of the Dean’s motions ; he comes and goes like the wind, 
I think. He is staying, I presume, with Oldport as usual.” 

Mr. Oldport was a Canon of Chichester, and an old chum and 
crony of Dean Wyndham’s. 

“ So I am informed,” said Mr. Broad. 

“ Have you seen the Dean ?” said Mr. Medlicott. 

“ I saw him no later than yesterday, sir, at Mat Cox’s; the> 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 15 

were transacting business together, and I was called in to witness 
the signing of the papers.” 

“ Building is not to be carried on without money,” said the 
Vicar, with a smile and a sagacious nod to Mr. Broad. 

“ I’m afraid the Dean is very deep in the mortar,” said the 
cutler. 

“ Do you say so ?” said Mr. Medlicott. 

w Matthew has advanced him five thousand pounds, sir ; — a 
large sum, sir, five thousand pounds.” 

It appeared even larger to the Vicar than it did to the cut- 
ler, but he made no remark, and changed the subject of conver- 
sation by asking Mr. Broad whether he had had any argument 
with the Dean on politics, or anything of that kind. Reuben 
had now rejoined them, being just in time to hear a curious 
illustration of his grandfathers character, rendered still more 
singular by the oddity of the narrator’s appearance and. gestures. 

“The Dean had no argument with me, sir,” said Mr. Broad; 
“but he had a grand one with Matthew Cox; they had a battle 
royal in Mat’s shop, sir.” 

“Were you present?” 

u Aye, that I was, sir ; and so was old Hannah Hopkins ; it 
was all about the coronation oath ; the Dean said that if the 
King was to consent to an act for admitting Roman Catholics 
to sit in Parliament, he would be guilty of flat perjury, and ought 
to lose his ears, sir, as well as forfeit his throne. He thumped 
the counter, sir, till the snuff flew out of the canisters, and made 
Mrs. Hopkins and her daughter sneeze and run out of the shop ; 
but they were frightened, too, I believe, by the Dean’s loud voice 
and the way he thumped the counter.” 

“ Well,” said the Vicar, “ and what did Matthew say ?” 

“ Mat was very respectful, sir, as he always is to people above 
him, and to the clergy particularly ; but he was very firm also, 
and stood up for his own opinions like an honest man ; he kept 
his temper, sir, which I am sorry to say the Dean did not ; for 
he ended with calling Mat a Papist, and went away without so 
much as wishing him a civil good morning.” 

“Was this before the pecuniary transaction, or after it?” 
inquired Mr. Medlicott, with his modicum of dry humour twink- 
ling in his eye. 

“ After it, sir, after it ; the Dean, sir, had the five thousand 
pounds, (or the order for the money, which was just as good,) 
in his pocket, sir, at the moment he was abusing Mat, and call- 
ing him twenty Papists.” 


16 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS) 


“ That was too bad,” said Mr. Medlicott, looking at his watch, 
and extending his hand to Mr. Broad to bid him a good evening. 

The sun had set before the Vicar and Reuben were on the 
road home again through the winding lanes. The Vicar mused, 
the greater part of the way, upon the strange peculiarities and 
contrasts of his father-in-law’s character, while Reuben, trotting 
by his side, speculated on the capacity of his new trunk for hold- 
ing his clothes and his books, and packed and repacked it twenty 
times over in his busy imagination. 


CHAPTER in 

THE NIGHT BEFORE REUBEN WENT TO SCHOOL.' HOW HIS HAIR WAS 
CUT, AND WHO WAS THE HAIR-CUTTER. 

The Dean was indeed the guest of Canon Oldport at tbe time, 
as Mr. Broad and the Vicar supposed. The Canon was an old 
bachelor, who had a tolerably good library, and kept only too 
good a table; for, between the sedentary habits of the student 
and the bon-vivant , he had generally two fits of the gout in the 
year; while, in the intervals, he was so afflicted with corns, that, 
in fact, he might be said to pass his whole life in his elbow-chair. 
Accordingly, being passionately fond of gossip and conversation, 
he was always delighted when a neighbour, or old college ac- 
quaintance dropped in to dine, or spend a few days with him. 
His greatest friend was Wyndham, and yet the Dean was so 
troublesome a guest that the Canon was generally as well pleased 
when he left his house as when he came to it. The Dean turned 
every house he entered topsy-turvy ; but he provoked Oldport 
most by his unceremonious way of tumbling about his books, 
which kept the Canon in a continual fret, particularly as the 
Dean never restored a volume to its place, so that his friend was 
continually hobbling after him, to keep his library in order. 

One evening, while the Dean continued Oldport’s guest, it 
suddenly occurred to him to pay the Medlicotts a visit ; and ac- 
cordingly, leaving the Canon to drink his wine alone, (the thing 
of all others least agreeable to him,) Dr. Wyndham took up his 
huge gold-headed cane, and strode across the fields to the Vicar- 
age. He was a man of huge frame and gladiatorial muscle. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


17 


Nature seemed to have designed him for physical, as well as 
polemical conflicts. He valued himself, indeed, on his personal 
strength as much as upon his prowess in controversy, and was 
particularly proud of his pedestrian powers. He had such a pair 
of legs as Hogarth would have given to an Irish chairman, or 
Wilkie to one of the swarthy demon-like coal-whippers to be 
seen issuing from those black arches in the Strand, which might 
welrbe imagined to form the regular communications between 
London and the nether world. 

The Vicar was watering his plants, apparently screened from 
public observation by a close hedge of beech, nearly six feet high, 
which separated his garden from the road, when he heard a well- 
known rough stentorian voice call out — 

“ Medlicott, you know no more of gardening than you do of 
Newton’s Principia. I’ll show you how to water, when you think 
proper to let me in.” 

The Vicar looked up, and beheld the broad pugnacious face 
of his wife’s father, with an immense aquiline nose, and an acre 
of well-shaven skin, the whole overshadowed by a shovel-hat 
with a particularly intolerant cock, peering at him over the hedge, 
which he was well able to do without standing on tip-toe. Hav- 
ing hospitably welcomed his distinguished relative and visitor, 
he ventured to observe, good-humouredly, thathecfoW presume to 
know something of a garden, though he was an humble vicar, 
and had all his life been ready to receive instruction from any 
one who was so competent to afford it, on most subjects, as the 
Dean. As he spoke,' he hastened to open a small wicket door 
in the hedge to admit the dignitary, who instantly thrust him- 
self in, stooping more than was necessary, and observing that it 
would not have cost five shillings more to have made the door a 
couple of inches higher. 

The Vicar again meekly smiled, and excused the door by ob- 
serving, that there was not such a tall man as Dr. Wyndham in 
the parish of Underwood, or, he believed, in the diocese. 

“Give me the watering-pot,” cried the Doctor, without no- 
ticing the Vicar’s apology, although so flattering to his person, 
u and go you in and tell Elinor I am come to take tea.” 

“ My wife is somewhere about the garden,” said the Vicar. 

“ Go and find her,” said the Dean. 

The Vicar obeyed, and in a few minutes returned with his 
wife and son, who were followed at a cautious distance by Hannah 
Hopkins, the Quakeress, and her daughter Mary, a fair, round, 


18 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


cosy girl, with a most unquakerlike expression of mirth in her 
eye, and a trick of laughing equally unbecoming of her solemn 
sect. Hannah Hopkins, who had already (as we have seen) 
met the Dean in Matthew Cox’s shop, and been so frightened by 
his violent deportment, felt very much inclined to make her 
retreat when she heard his name mentioned, but the Vicar had 
overruled her, as she had had a long walk and come expressly to 
take tea. Mrs. Medlicott, with Reuben, hastened forward to wel- 
come her father, whose arrival was not entirely unexpected, as it 
was known he was in the neighbourhood. Both mother and son 
w r ere proud to excess of the Dean’s talents and reputation. You 
could see it in their faces ; but you might also have perceived 
that they were fluttered as well as gratified by his visit. They 
found him, however, a little crest-fallen, and somewhat in the 
state that is called a pickle. He had got himself into a scrape 
by his conceited meddling, for stooping too low to replenish the 
watering-pot in the well, his shovel-hat had fallen into it, and he 
was now fishing for it with a rake. Mary Hopkins laughed most 
irreverently. Old Hannah shook her head at her. She was a 
tall, gaunt, elderly woman, with the parched brown complexion 
of an ancient gipsy ; she wore steel spectacles on her nose, and her 
bony hands were furnished with knitting-needles, which were never 
idle, making or mending some garter, mitten, or worsted stocking. 

She shook her head at her daughter when she laughed, and 
it was an awful sight to her scholars when Hannah Hopkins 
shook her head, though by no means an infallible cure for 
laughter in other cases. The Dean, however, took no notice of 
either mother or daughter, but having recovered his hat com- 
menced whirling and swinging it about, without thinking much 
of the sprinkling he gave any of the party. As to poor Mrs. 
Medlicott, she got so much of the cold spray, that she was forced 
to cry out for mercy, and cover her face and bosom with her 
hands. Mary Hopldns caught some of it too, and it set her 
laughing again, though she did her best to repress it. 

“The hat’s not much the worse,” he said, bluffly shaking 
hands with his daughter and grandson ; he was evidently quieted , 
by his little mishap, and said no more of watering or of garden- 
ing that evening. The room where the tea was prepared was a 
small one, and the table where it was spread was small likewise. J 
When the great churchman was seated, it seemed as if there I 
were no room for anybody else. Yet two or the party had dis- 
appeared. What had become of the Quakeresses 2 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 19 

u What has become of Hannah and Mary ?” ashed the Vicar, 
looking all round about him. 

“ They were just behind us,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 

“ They came to tea,” said Reuben. 

Reuben was greatly concerned, and, running in all directions, 
searched the garden for them, but he searched in vain ; for the 
timorous Quakeresses had slipped away unperceived through the 
wicket in the hedge ; Hannah Hopkins dreading another i*n- 
timely explosion of mirth on the part of the fair fat Mary, and 
not knowing what awful consequences might follow, should the 
formidable Dean suspect that he was the, subject of it. 

“ Gone without their tea !” said the Vicar, when his son re- 
turned from his unavailing search. 

“ And without their flowers,” said Reuben, who had gathered 
an immense nosegay for his old schoolmistress and her daughter. 

The Dean now, addressing himself to nobody in particular, 
launched out into a philippic on the Quakers, their habits, and their 
doctrines, belaboring Fox and Penn without mercy, and promising 
to administer a still more elaborate castigation to the whole So- 
ciety of Friends upon some future occasion — a promise which he 
lived to redeem. Poor Medlicott had generally a good word to 
say for the Quakers, but he rarely ventured to controvert any 
opinion of Dr. Wyndham’s, and upon the present occasion he 
observed a most servile silence. 

Some time elapsed before Mrs. Medlicott succeeded in draw- 
ing her father’s attention to Reuben, and to the interesting fact 
that the very next day was fixed for his departure for school. 

“So you are taking my advice at last; you ought to have 
taken it long ago,” he cried, addressing both parents, but looking 
at neither, which was no deviation from his ordinary manners in 
society. He then fell upon the eatables on the table, as if his 
friend the Canon had given him no dinner, talking loudly and 
volubly, on the subject of public schools in the necessary intervals 
of eating, and sometimes during the process, relating his own ex- 
ploits at Harrow, and further, to encourage Reuben, giving hvely 
and forcible descriptions of the discipline which, at that period, 
was in vogue in most English seminaries of any notoriety. 

“ Quorum pars magna fui,” said the Doctor. “ It was through 
the birch I made my way to the laurel. It was whipped into 
me.” Reuben blushed, and felt excessively uncomfortable all 
over. Ilis mother felt uneasy also ; yet she could not but reflect 
with pleasure that her son’s passion for study would necessarily 


20 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS j 


enable him to reach the laurel without passing through the other 
grove alluded to by his grandfather. 

“ I was a Goth when I was a boy,” continued the Doctor, 
still stuffing himself. “I hated books; I was a foe to learning; 

I was a Goth and a Visigoth. It was whipped out of me.” 

“ But Reuben does not hate books, or learning, father,” said 
Mrs. Medlicott with a sort of nervous playfulness, for she was 
always timid in her father’s presence, and spoke in a subdued 
way, which she was not so much in the habit of using with her 
husband. 

“ Perhaps it would be better if he did : boys are boys, a 
learned boy is as great a monster as an ignorant man. I am 
afraid, Elinor, you have been stuffing your son’s head with too 
many things. I have known men ruined by cleverness, but I 
never knew a man ruined by dulness.” The Vicar shrugged his 
shoulders and expressed his full concurrence in this opinion. 

Mrs. Medlicott was now moved : she took off her blue spec- ; 
tacles, as she always did when she was about to do or say any- 
thing with particular energy or seriousness (probably lest they 
should fall from her nose), and laid them beside her on the tea- 
table. This done, she remarked with some spirit, and even a 
little irritation, “ that it was rather hard she should now be 
blamed for misdirecting her son’s studies, as she had never acted 
on her sole responsibility, and particularly as Reuben was quite 
as forward as other boys in his Greek and Latin, while over most 
children of his age he had a decided advantage in many other 
branches ot knowledge, which she had often heard her father him- 
self say, were too much neglected in public schools.” 

“The boy will do well enough, I dare say,” cried the Dean, 
cutting his daughter short. Then turning to Reuben, he added 
— “ you must do your grandfather credit, sir.” 

“ That’s what I often tell him,” said the Vicar. 

“ I trust, father, he will do you credit,” said Mrs. Medlicott 1 
more emphatically ; “ it is my prayer that he may, and I believe 
it is his own earnest wish. Is it not, Reuben ?” 

“ It is, mother,” answered her son very frankly and hand- 
somely. His manner pleased even the rugged dignitary, who 
called the tall bashful boy over to him, patted his fair head, and 
gave him a great many valuable pieces of advice for his conduct 
at school, both in his behaviour to his teachers and his fellow- 
scholars, ending by reminding him that he had nothing but his 
talents and industry to depend on for his advancement in life. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 21 

“ What can your father do for you — a poor church-mouse of a 
vicar?’ 

“ He can only leave you his blessing and the family Bible,” 
added the Vicar humbly. 

“ We must rely upon Providence,” said Mrs. Medlicott, with 
a sigh, but at the same time with a complacent smile on her son, 
as if she had not much doubt of his success in life. 

“Very right,” said the Dean, “but Providence only provides 
for the provident ; never forget that.” 

“Very true,” said the Vicar. 

“Very striking,” said his wife. 

“ I’ll have another cup of tea,” said Dr. Wyndham, pushing 
his cup towards his daughter. lie drank tea like Dr. Johnson 
when the tea-drinking fit was on him, but he was sometimes 
equally violent in his love of coffee. 

“ Well,” said the Vicar cheerily, after a moment’s halt in the 
conversation, “ if Reuben goes into the Church, which he probably 
will, he won’t want a friend there to give him a push in the 
world.” 

“ Let nobody expect to rise by holding my skirts,” said the 
Dean dryly and pompously ; “ my head is as hard to be fitted 
with a mitre as parson Yorick’s.” 

“Nothing is impossible,” said the Vicar, somewhat mala- 
droitly. 

“ Nothing’s impossible, of course,” rejoined the Dean ; “ if 
you go to possibility, you may be a bishop yourself one of these 
days.” 

“ The Vicar laughed at this rude speech, as if it was a capital 
joke, while the old gentleman began abruptly to talk a great 
deal about his friends the Barsacs, abusing their house and their 
society, but extolling the people themselves, especially one of the 
Miss Barsacs, whose name was Blanche, and whom the Dean 
called a sensible good girl twenty times over, and more than once 
an angel. The Barsacs, he said, were only too attentive to the 
Finchley boys : they would be kind to Reuben as a matter of 
course. 

The sun was now setting behind a row of great old yews 
which stood at the top of the sloping garden of the Vicarage, 
separating it from the jhurch-yard, and as the level beams fell 
on the fair hair of young Reuben, they attracted the attention 
of his grandfather to its feminine beauty and abundance. 

“ Come, Elinor,” he cried to his daughter, “ you are not going 


22 the universal genius ; . 

to send the boy to school with this ridiculous head of hair; why, 
his school-fellows will use him for a Pope’s head.” 

“ It is too long,” said the Vicar. Mrs. Medlicott herself could 
not dispute it. The hair was the colour of her own to the nicest 
shade, which perhaps was one of the causes of the favour in 
which she held, and the care with which she had cherished it. 

“ Is there no hair-cutter in the village, eh V ’ pursued the Doc- 
tor, looking furiously at the golden locks. 

“Not nearer than Chichester,” said Mrs. Medlicott, “indeed 
I should have had it cut before, but now it is too late.” 

“Too late, fudge! why don’t you cut it yourself?” 

“Oh, father,” said Mrs. Medlicott, laughing, “I should be a 
very awkward coiffeuse : I wouldn’t undertake it for the world.” 

“ Undertake it ! Where’s the difficulty ? hand me a pair of 
scissors; I’m a capital hair-cutter; I always cut my own at 
College — hand me those scissors, boy.” Imagine a Roman dic- 
tator, Furius Camillus for instance, issuing bis orders. 

Reuben smiled, coloured, glanced at his mother, then looked 
fearfully at his grandfather, and finally handed the scissors. It 
was the affair of a moment. You know the sound that sharp 
steel makes passing through masses of crisp curls. 

“ Now don’t, dear father ; don’t,” cried Mrs. Medlicott, jump- 
ing up and running round the table. “ I’ll do it myself, — don’t 
father, don’t, — you might have allowed me.” 

The bright hair was tumbling on the floor in bunches, while 
the mother was thus interceding for it idly, for her father’s huge 
hands wielded the shears as ruthlessly as those of Atropos. 

The Vicar was pleased, but he enjoyed his satisfaction in 
silence. As to Reuben, he was man enough to have borne the 
loss of his superfluous ringlets, for in truth they were an incum- 
brance and inconvenience to him ; but when he saw that his mother 
was really agitated and vexed at his grandfather’s violent pro- 
ceedings, the tears stood in his eyes, and it was with some diffi- 
culty he prevented them from joining his hair on the carpet. 

The Vicar accompanied the dignitary for about a mile of the 
way back to the house were he was quartered, the latter walk- 
ing with immense strides, talking volubly and vehemently all 
the time ; and the former a short-winded pursy little man, 
trying ineffectually to keep the pace, and equally unsuccessful in 
his efforts to take part in the conversation. At length they came 
to a point where the Dean was to cross a stile to take a short 
cut through the fields; and here he suddenly missed some pa* 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


23 


pers, no less important than a sermon which he was to preach 
in the Cathedral of Chichester the following Sunday. The pa- 
pers ought to have been in his hat, and as they were not there, 
the probability was that they were in the pond, or well, in the 
Vicar’s garden. 

“ Have you ducks ?” cried the Dean, astride on the stile. 

“ No,” said the Vicar laughing ; “it’s not a pond, only a well.” 

“Well, there’s one well in the world,” said the Dean : “ one 
at least that realises the old proverb, and you may now boast, 
Medlicott, that you have got it in your garden.” 

“ I’ll recover the sermon,” said the Vicar; “it won’t be a 
dry discourse at all events.” 

“ I make you a present of it,” said the Dean. “ Preach it to 
the people of Underwood.” 

“ I’ll take you at your word, sir,” said the Vicar, “ and the 
present is very acceptable, for I have been so engrossed by send- 
ing Reuben to school, that I have had no time to compose a ser- 
mon of my own for next Sunday.” 

Mrs. Medlicott and her son had strolled forth also to enjoy the 
remnant of a beautiful evening more agreeably in the fresh air, 
and neighbouring fields, than in the feverish atmosphere of a 
room, which had been twice heated by the steam of the tea- 
kettle, and the presence of a great controversial divine. Mrs. 
Medlicott had of course many prudent maternal cautions to 
impress, and many sage injunctions to impose upon the 
young adventurer who was about to quit her side for ihe 
first time ; and Reuben, on his part, had promises to make, 
resolutions to form, and projects, enterprises, visions, specu- 
lations, hopes, and dreams to communicate. One of the 
pledges now exacted by Mrs. Medlicott, with the greatest earnest- 
ness, was that the boy would not over-tax his strength by too 
much anxiety to improve himself, or even to please his parents ; 
he was young, and there was time enough before him for all the 
purposes of life ; he was highly intellectual — she might venture 
now to tell him so — and the drudgery, which with inferior facul- 
ties might be indispensable, was in his case not only needless, 
but was calculated to defeat the very object of study. 

“But there will be time enough for every thing,” said 
Reuben ; “ I need not forget my French, or my German, or 
my geology, or my botany, or anything you have taught me, 
mother ; although I promise you I will attend chiefly to my school 
business, and not neglect my health.” 


24 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


“ That is all that I ask, my love,” said the tall matron, look- 
ing down with maternal pride upon her son through her blue 
spectacles, and bitterly sighing when she missed his hyacintliine 
curls. 

“ I should not be happy, mother,” pursued Reuben, £{ if I 
were to feel myself forgetting anything you have had the trouble 
of teaching me.” 

“ My dear boy,” said his mother, after a pause, during which 
she collected herself for one of her speeches, “ now that 1 am sa- 
tisfied you will be prudent, believe me I do not want to disguise 
from you the immeasurable extent of the field of human know- 
ledge, and the innumerable provinces of the mind, (for really they 
are innumerable,) in which the triumphs of literature and science 
are to be won. I have often told you — have I not ? — I think I 
have — the opinion I entertain of the vast capacity of our intel- 
lects, and my conviction that there is infinitely more than enough 
room in your brain, for example, Reuben, or in mine, for all the 
learning that ever was acquired, and all the sciences that ever 
were invented. Our minds, my dear, you must never forget, are 
not only immortal, but infinite. When you have read Locke’s 
Essays and Browne’s Philosophy of the Mind, you will have 
clearer notions of what immortality and infinity mean. There 
is nothing so important, dear Reuben, as to have clear and precise 
ideas upon every subject ; but to return to what I was saying, I 
am inclined to believe that Plato, the divine Plato, held pretty 
much the same opinions that I have expressed, or tried to ex- 
press, on the vastness and variety of the human capacity. I have 
really sometimes thought of comparing the human mind to an 
infinite kaleidoscope.” 

u I long to read Plato,” said Reuben. 

u He is a glorious writer and philosopher,” said the blue 
lady ; “ you will study him at College.” 

. “ Not till then,” said Reuben, with a sigh ; “ but tell me, 

mother,” he added, “ was my grandfather so very dull at school 
as he says he was ? Was he a Goth, and a Visigoth ?” 

“ Your grandfather, my dear,” said Mrs. Medlicott, smiling, v 
“ like most very energetic men, sometimes speaks in a strain of 
exaggeration ; you must receive his statements, therefore, cum 
grano, or with a grain of allowance for this peculiar feature in 
his idiosyncracy ; — no, my dear, he was, I believe, one of the 
very cleverest boys at Harrow, though idle and refractory perhaps 
at times, which aocounts for the experience he ttfW yuu he had 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


25 


of the severities of academic discipline.” Here a winged ^etle 
gave Mrs. Medlicott a bob in the face, and brought her prema- 
turely to a stop. 

“ I will make it my stud} 7 , mother, to resemble him,” said 
Reuben, solemnly. 

“ Not in being idle and refractory, I hope,” said Mrs. Medli- 
cott, smiling ; — she was seldom so jocular — “ but who is this ap- 
proaching us ? it has grown so dark that we shall scarcely have 
light to get home. Those coleopterous insects are exceedingly 
annoying : it is owing, you may remember, to the peculiar 
structure of their visual organs.” 

The personage thus dimly descried in the twilight, was the 
Vicar who, while he accompanied them back to the glebe, in- 
formed them of the watery doom of the Doctor’s papers. Mrs. 
|j Medlicott was greatly excited at the thought of the possible loss 
of any production of her father’s, and her excitement was caught 
by Reuben, who ran forward with impetuosity to procure a 
lantern from the kitchen, to guide them to the well, where in- 
deed the papers were found floating, as was anticipated, just 
where they had tumbled out of the shovel-hat. Mrs. Medlicott, 
herself, took possession of them, and dried them carefully with her 
handkerchief, and afterwards at the kitchen fire, before she went 
to bed. The Vicar entertained a momentary design of sitting 
up to read the sermon, of which he was now the owner, but 
whether it was the reflection that it was his own property, or 
that he was unaccustomed to reading by candlelight, he gave 
up the task after nodding over it for a few minutes, and retired 
to his pillow likewise. 

We shall not hear of this sermon again for some years. 
When it came to the point, the Vicar found it no easy matter to 
reconcile it with his conscience to palm his father-in-law’s learn- 
ing and eloquence upon his parishioners as his own. 


CHAPTER IV. 

MR8. MEDLICOTT BORROWS MRS. WINNING’S FRENCH MAID. REUBEN 
LEAVES HOME, AND OTHER IMPORANT INCIDENTS. 

All the incidents of that evening made a deep impression on the 
mind of young Reuben, — the sudden panic flight of the old 
Quaker and her daughter, — the cutting of his hair by his rude 
2 


26 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


find eccentric grandfather,— the rescue of the sermon from drown- 
ing, but his last walk and conversation with his mother more 
than all the rest. 

The boy loved his mother with more than ordinary tender- 
ness ; they had indeed been fellow-students more than pupil and 
preceptress, and his attachment to her was almost identified with 
Ins ardour for the various studies into which she had not very 
discreetly initiated him. The worst of such instruction was that 
his lights were taken upon most subjects from one whose own 
mind was far from being luminous enough to undertake the en- 
lightenment of others. Mrs. Medlicott was not at all more logi- 
cal in her habits of reasoning, or precise in her notions, than .the 
large majority of woman-kind, although the range of her read- 
ing was so general and so ambitious. Her understanding at the 
brightest was but a sort of shining mist. The knowledge she 
possessed, or what she called knowledge, was nine parts out of 
ten either an affair of the memory, or the imagination. These 
were also, of course, the provinces of Reuben’s intellect, which 
had been most industriously cultivated ; so that in his case, un- 
questionably, it would have been better if the old routine of in- 
struction had been adhered to, and if the white paper, to which 
Locke compares the human mind before the reception of ideas, 
had not been so extensively scrawled over with hieroglyohics, by 
the hand of a vain self-opinionated woman. Let a woman, how- 
ever, be ever so blue, she is still a woman. She does not put 
off her own sex, when she encroaches on the prerogatives and 
pursuits of ours. Of this Reuben’s mother now afforded a re- 
markable example. Among many other subjects of maternal 
solicitude which harassed the mind of Mrs. Medlicott that night, 
the rape of her son’s locks was not forgotten, and the uncouth 
figure he now made haunted her imagination, and even disturbed 
her rest. She w r as apprehensive of making matters worse if she 
tried with her qwn hands to mend them, but was there no other 
resource ? Must Reuben actually go to school with that shock- \ 
ing head of hair, looking as if he had been trimmed with a 
hatchet, as Charon in Lucian was accustomed to trim the beards 
of the philosophers ? Reuben’s departure stood fixed for a late 
hour on the following day, so there was time left for a little 
management, if she could only think what to do There is no- 
thing like thinking perseveringly and doggedly when you are in 
a dilemma. Things are very desperate when nothing comes of 
persevering dogged thinking. Mrs. Medlicott thought so long 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


27 


that she thought at length of her neighbour, Mrs. Winning of 
Sunbury, and recollected that she had lately returned from a°con- 
tinental tour, bringing with her to England a treasure of a young 
French femme-de-chambrc, who was already celebrated in the 
neighbourhood, both for her cleverness and her beauty. Mrs. 
Med licott jumped out of bed in the morning long before the Vi- 
car had given any signs of life, and wrote a long note to her 
friend, detailing the misfortune that had befallen Reuben, and 
begging a loan of her maid for a few hours to help her out of 
the difficulty, for Mademoiselle was of course an expert coiffeuse. 
This note was entrusted to an out-door servant, who was ordered 
to take the Vicar’s mare to convey it, and to furnish the animal 
with a side-saddle for the accommodation of the French maid, 
the distance being something too much for a walk. The clock 
of Underwood Church, (the tower of which was just visible above 
the line of the old yews,) had just gone seven, when the servant 
with the mare and side-saddle set out on his odd commission. 

There was great excitement that morning at the Vicarage, 
and it commenced at an early hour, many of Reuben’s old friends 
coming to bid him adieu, and present him with little tokens of 
affection, to keep themselves green in his memory when he was 
far away. 

First to arrive were the simple Quaker school-mistress and 
her cosy daughter, no longer daunted — poor timid hares — by the 
overbearing Dean, with his thundering voice, and church-militant 
manners. As they came early and stayed long, we have time 
to observe them better than when we met them last. One was 
never seen without the other; they were inseparable even in 
thought, like chicken and tongue. Two bees were never more 
industrious. Their business w 7 as teaching, their relaxation needle- 
work. If they had a passion, it was for flowers, grasses, and 
peacock’s feathers. If Mary had a fault, it was that she w r as too 
merry for her sect, and too plump for her stature. If Hannah 
had her imperfections, they leaned to the side of literature, like 
Mrs. Medlicott’s. Mary w r as plain in her attire only ; the mother 
w 7 as plain in every sense, including plain-speaking and plain- 
dealing. Her school, in the management of which Mary now 
bore her part, was her principal means of subsistence ; it yielded 
them but a scanty income, for they w r ere extremely modest in 
their terms, and taught the children of people who were as poor 
as themselves, for almost nothing at all. 

What she taught would not be important enough to men- 
w on, if she had not been one of Reuben Medlicott’s earlv twhem 


28 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


Her course included reading, writing, and arithmetic as far 
as long division ; she never puzzled her pupils with the rule of 
three, or maddened them with fractions. Her system of geogra- 
phy was much shorter and simpler than Humboldt’s. In history 
she taught how Alfred burned the cake, how Clarence was 
drowned in the malmsey, and who founded the state of Penn- 
sylvania. In short, she taught many things superficially, and 
stocking-knitting profoundly. But she was perhaps more in re- 
pute as a moralist, than for merely enlighteniug the mind. In 
ethics she taught that honesty is the best policy, that wilful waste 
makes woful want, that idleness is the mother of mischief, and 
that there is a time for all things under the sun. There is reason 
to think she considered this last maxim the corner-stone of the 
edifice of virtue, she repeated and insisted on it so very frequently. 
Neither of the Quakeresses came empty-handed. Mary brought 
a silken purse, of her own manufacture, in which she had curi- 
ously interwoven Reuben’s name, and very tenderly, as well as 
a little nervously, did she present him with it, whispering, while 
she placed it in his hands, that she trusted he would be happy 
where he was going, which appeared to be very far away. Han- 
nah had her gift also, a large segment of a certain economical 
species of plum-cake, made with her own hands from a receipt 
handed down in her family for generations. It was called the 
“ cut-and-come-again cake,” and was particularly in demand for 
the quarterly and yearly meetings. 

There now appeared another visitor, one, however, who came 
to take rather than to give, as the world is divided between 
people of the two propensities. The new comer was a tall, awk- 
ward, heavy animal of a boy, somewhat senior to Reuben, the 
son of Mr. Pigwidgeon, the family apothecary, who, not being able 
to come himself, sent his son Theodore with a present of a box 
of stomachic pills, and a commission to say what was proper on 
his part, which perhaps the lad would have tried to do, had not 
the sight of the cake driven all other thoughts out of his mind. 
His arrival was evidently a bore to Reuben, who had to request 
him to keep his intrusive hands out of his trunk, which was 
packed, but still open, while he willingly accepted Mary Hopkins’s 
offer to put the things in order again which had been deranged 
by such unmannerly meddling. Master Pigwidgeon then kept 
hovering, like a great fly, about the “ cut-and-come-again,” and 
at last ventured to pick at the enamelled sugar with which it was 
overlaid. In all probability he would soon have taken much 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


29 


greater freedom with it, if old Harmah had not suddenly laid 
hands on him, and, drawing herself up to her full height, 
addressed him with a severity which not more appalled the object 
of it, than it vastly entertained the Vicar. 

“Go thy ways,” she cried, shaking her head, and shaking the 
delinquent at the same time, “the cake is not for thee ; hadst 
thou been a scholar of mine, I would have taught thee betimes 
to keep thy hands from that which is not thine.” 

The tall lubberly youth slunk away from the table where the 
cake lay, and looked so abashed and frightened that Mrs. Medli- 
cott pitied him, and gave Reuben a hint to offer him a piece of 
the cake, which the generous boy did in the promptest and most 
good-natured manner. Nor was Master Theodore Pigwidgeon 
too proud to be appeased in this way, though he preferred 
enjoying his share of the cake in private, and stole away home, 
scarcely bidding his benefactor a good-bye, and utterly forgetting 
the pills, for which Reuben perhaps had no reason to be seriously 
offended with him. 

Among the hours and half-hours that are most irksome to 
pass in this world (such as the half-hour before dinner, or before 
the rising of the curtain at the play), must certainly be enumer- 
ated the interval that elapses between the completion of the pre- 
liminaries of a journey and the moment of the last embraces and 
adieus. It is an interval which cannot be too much abridged for 
the comfort of all parties ; for the tenderest leave-takings do not 
admit of being protracted for more than a few minutes; sighs 
cannot be drawn out beyond a limited length, and the tenderest 
eyes will not secrete tears at discretion. The visits of even com- 
mon acquaintances therefore, have their value on these occasions, 
provided they do not come to pry into our boxes and eat up our 
plum-cakes. Mrs. M<?dlicott nevertheless was not sorry when the 
considerate quakeresses gave Reuben the last proofs of their affec- 
tion — Hannah with kisses which he would gladly have dispensed 
with, and a parting speech containing the cream of her proverbial 
philosophy — and went their way in sympathy and silence. In 
fact Mrs. Medlicott had for some time been extremely fidgetty, 
looking out for the arrival of the French maid, and not wishing 
her to come until the Hopkinses had departed. It happened 
exactly as she wished. The quakeresses were not gone five 
minutes when Mademoiselle arrived, not on the Vicar’s mare (for 
she shuddered at the notion of riding), but in a little phaeton of 
Mrs. Winning’s. Louise (so she was called), was very young, ex- 


80 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


tremely pretty, exceedingly well-dressed, thoroughly Parisian, and 
the most lively, ardent, and obliging creature in the world. In 
a neat basket, which hung from her arm, she carried her scissors 
and her tongs, her oils, marrows, and pomatums, in short all the 
instruments and appliances of that luxurious and ornamental art 
in which her compatriots of both sexes leave the rest of the world 
immeasurably behind them. The exquisite arrangement of her 
own hair was enough of itself to prove her capacity for the deli- 
cate mission she came to execute. In a word, she seemed a very 
sylph of the toilet, an actual Crispissa, as she alighted from the 
carriage and tripped into the Vicar’s parlour. What a contrast, 
except in being obliging and good-natured, she presented to poor 
Mary Hopkins ! 

“ Ah, mon Dieu ; ah, mon Dieu Mademoiselle exclaimed, 
when the state of poor Reuben’s tresses was shown her, 11 que les 
pretres Anglais sont des ignorans !” as if she had expected to find 
the ecclesiastics of England particularly expert at hair-cutting. 

Mrs. Medlicott talked French reasonably well for an English 
woman who had never been abroad ; but Reuben had not yet 
reached that degree of proficiency, so that Mademoiselle, who 
spoke English prettily, employed that tongue chiefly during her 
* visit. She had a nice operation to perform, but she executed it 
with such dexterity that, although she could not replace the lost 
curls, she soon left little or no trace of the Dean’s clumsy hands 
behind her. Mrs. Medlicott stood by delighted and thankful, 
rewarding every clever touch with a profusion of acknowledg- 
ments and a mint of smiles. Reuben himself had no words to 
express what he felt ; gratitude was the least of it. Though but 
a boy of thirteen, he was far from insensible to the prodigious 
difference between the small tapering rosy fingers of the pretty 
sparkling young French woman, and those of his last hair-dresser. 
She touched him so delicately, so playfully, made such a number 
of artless flattering little speeches, had such bright eyes, and such 
a musical voice, seemed so happy to please his mother, and every 
now and then came out with such pretty little exclamations, and 
adjurations (which were always in her own language), that the 
boy was utterly confused and bewildered, and experienced emo- 
tions which poor Mary Hopkins had never inspired. In fact it 
was fortunate he had so many other occupations for his thoughts 
at the moment, for otherwise he might have actually fallen in 
love. 

When Mademoiselle heard that he was on the point of start- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


31 


h y for shcool, she cried out that he was too young, too fragile, 
'*• .1 began to implore his parents to change their purpose. She 
iven offered to come over herself twice a week from Sunbury, 
and teach him French. Ilis clever fatter and mother could 
teach him every thing else; “ voila mon projet destruction pour 
Monsieur Reuben.” 

Mrs. Medlicott could not but laugh, while in the most cour- 
teous terms she thanked Mademoiselle Louise for her project and 
all her civilities. 

w C’est mon projet,” she repeated curtseying, while she sheathed 
her scissors, and prepared to take leave, which she was not per- 
mitted to do without luncheon. While that was preparing, she 
tripped over to a piano, which happened to be open, and without 
sitting down, played and sang one little lively air after another, 
with such grace and sweetness that the Vicar himself was 
greatly taken with her. 

“ I will come encore, and pay you a visit, when you come 
back for de holidays, Monsieur Reuben,” she said, when luncheon 
was over, “ and remember, if your mechant grandpapa cut your 
beautiful hair again, you always send for Mademoiselle Louise.” 

Before she went, she gave him several admirable precepts for 
the care of his hair and the improvement of his person generally, 
and presented him with a flask of Eau-de-Cologne by way of an 
impromptu souvenir; so that Reuben carried with him to school 
substantial pledges of regard from a great many friends and 
acquaintances. 

At length the parents were alone with their son, and now 
many a maternal caress was repeated, many a paternal counsel 
reinforced ; many a time Mrs. Medlicott was sure she had left 
something unsaid of the utmost consequence, and, with her hands 
clasped over her eyes, laboured in vain to recollect herself, for in 
fact she had said everything important and unimportant ten 
times over. The Vicar had ail along confined his instructions to 
but a few points, but to these he had returned frequently, and 
even now at the eleventh hour, he inculcated once more the few 
short moral lessons into which he tersely divided what he called 
the whole duty of a schoolboy. 

The final tendernesses may be left to the reader’s imagina- 
tion — who has not either experienced or witnessed them? “ Tears 
have streamed through every age” for this commonest of causes, 
but fortunately though such tears are natural, we “ wipe them 
soon,” as our first parents did, after a scene of moie bitter leave- 


82 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


taking. The Vicar’s resource in every grief was his garden, lie 
pulled his hat down over his face, and w r ent forth to commune 
with an old raven he had of the name of Sirach. Mrs. MedUcott 
hurried to her room. Reuben mounted the top of the stage-coach 
with his eyes still red with weeping. The precise number of hours 
his journey occupied is not recorded; all that is certain is, that 
on the third day after leaving home he was duly enrolled as a 
scholar at Hereford, having in the course of the journey met with 
the usual varieties of ups and downs, rough tmd smooth, accord- 
ing as nature had diversified the country lie travelled through, or 
the overseers of the roads had performed or neglected their 
duties. 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 33 


BOOK THE SECONU 


“ Mi perdonate , gentle master mine, 

I am in all affected as yourself ; 

Glad that you thus continue your resolve 
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 

Only good master, while we do admire 
This virtue, and this moral discipline, 

Let’s be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray} 

Or so devote to Aristotle’s checks 
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured.” 

Taming of trie Shrew. 


ARGUMENT. 

A man on first coming into the world is very much in the position of a 
minor whose affairs are altogether in the hands of his guardians and his 
lawyers; he has nothing at all to do with what he is most concerned in, 
hut is entirely at the disposal and mercy of other people. We are not 
at liberty to choose our own fathers and mothers, or even our pastors and 
masters; and perhaps, on the whole it is so much the better — it is easy 
to imagine what would happen were such a privilege accorded us. Mr. 
Hudson, for instance, would probably have more sons than Priam of 
Troy; the Duke of Wellington would have a prodigious Christmas party 
at Strathfieldsay ; and our gracious Queen would soon find herself in the 
same domestic difficulty with the notorious little old woman, who, whilom, 
lived in the shoe. Cobblers and curates would be childless, and infants 
of the most moderate ambition would be born with silver spoons in their 
mouths. These points are settled for us ; and not only are we provided 
with ready-made parents, but with complete sets of relations, friends, 
and acquaintances, — not made to any order of ours, and with respect to 
whom we have not so much as the melancholy choice of Hobson. 

There is no help for this state of things any more than there is for our 
not being nearer neighbours to the sun than we are, or qualified to pro- 
menade our ceilings like the flies. It is the common law of the world 
as much as gravitation : we are free to grumble, but not at liberty to dis- 
obey. 

Fortune is but another name for the infinite mass of circumstances in 
the midst of which we seem to be flung, like Bligh’s boat on the Pacific, 
or the infant Moses in his cradle of rushes upon the flood of the Nile. 
An unseen Providence steers the ark ; but as far as regards the little crew 
2 * 


u 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


himself, he is absolutely at the mercy of the current and the crocodiles. 
Or we may be said to be as molten metal poured into the me aid of ten 
thousand pre-existing facts and relationships, all influencing us, and more 
or less, determining what manner of men we shall be. We take their 
form and pressure most submissively. There is no option but to take it. 

Circumstance is like a she-bear who licks her cubs into shape. Some 
are licked too roughly, some too delicately ; a few receive the proper 
moderate licking which forms the fine animal. After a certain period we 
come to be old enough to take a part in the process, and lick or educate 
ourselves; one energetic man in a hundred will recast himself altogether; 
the majority continue to the end of the story much what nurseries, 
schools and colleges, parents, pedagogues and priests, conspired to make 
them in life’s introductory chapters. 

The second book of our “ poem unlimited,” contains something about 
learning, but a great deal more about love. More than one personage 
will be transported by that passion who ought to be thinking of graver 
things. When grandfathers fall in love, grandsons may well “ sigh like 
a furnace.” We shall presently (to employ again a former illustration) 
be spectators of some of the pantomimic changes of real life. With our 
eyes fixed on a grammar-school, we shall see it turned into a drawing- 
room ; and the study of a grizzly old divine will be transformed with 
equal suddenness into a myrtle-bower. Our Reuben is here advanced a 
stage on his journey nowhither ; he extends his acquaintance with au- 
thors, adds largely to his stock of words, and commences an intimacy with 
a young lady, and to all other books prefers the Book of Beauty. The 
good old people of Chichester have a very imperfect notion of the sayings 
and doings of the gay young people at Hereford, or, indeed, of the gay old 
folk either. While one sort of instruction is liberally paid for, another is 
generously afforded gratis ; for all that influences a man is part of his 
education ; our friends and companions are unsalaried tutors ; the houses 
we frequent are so many academies of easy discipline ; the girl we dance 
with imparts a great many new ideas ; — in short, what is the wide world 
but a seminary, where the youth of both sexes are promiscuously educated 
by mistresses as well as masters, and under the fan as well as the ferula. 

In short, for a model-school (taking the world as it is), commend us 
to that kept by Professor Biron in the park of Navarre, where the 
scholars forswore their books when they took a vow of study. A man, 
however, may, like Reuben Medlicott, be at once amorous of books and 
studious of beauty. It would not be amiss if the sculptors of gems 
would sometimes give Cupid the beard of Plato, and transfer the wings 
and arrows of the profligate little god to the founder of the Academy. 


/ 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


Zb 


CHAPTER L 

\ * SCHOOL AT HEREFORD. REUBEN RENEWS AN OLD INTIMACY 

AND MAKES SEVERAL NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 

The *»e was a modified system of fagging established, or permitted, 
in the school at Hereford where Reuben Medlicott was now a 
pupil. The aim of Mr. Brough, the principal, (a pompous, but 
kind man,) was to preserve the system itself without permitting 
the gross abuses usually attending it, and in the main he was 
successful in effecting this object. Mr. Brough was a good 
schoolmaster, had some natural gift for teaching, and considera- 
ble sagacity in discovering the characters and measuring the 
capacities of his boys, taking their altitudes and sounding their 
depths, as he used to call it. He was not long in taking the 
measure of Reuben, with tolerable accuracy, and finding him a 
clever boy, rather deficient in iorce, and at the same time not of 
a very robust physical conformation, he considerately assigned him 
as vassal to his old friend Henry Winning — an arrangement very 
pleasant for Reuben, and one that gratified his parents extremely 
when they heard of it. Henry Winning was not only clever, 
but remarkable for steadiness and perseverance. He was also a 
brave, generous fellow, so that all apprehension of tyranny was 
soon banished from the mind of his new subject. 

Reuben was on his knees unpacking his box of books the 
morning after his arrival, and Winning was standing over him, 
wondering in silence what the boy could want with so many 
more volumes than he had ever possessed himself. As Reuben 
placed them one after another oh the floor, the other stooped 
and looked at their titles in succession. The first was a 'Latin 
Grammar, which was* quite right; next came a Delectus, also 
indispensable. Then there appeared the Discourses of Sir Joshua 
Reynolds. 

“ The Bodleian in a box,” said Winning : “ come we don’t 
learn that at Finchley ;” and he pitched the Discourses aside. 

“ I read it with my mother,” said Reuben, looking up timidly, 
and colouring. 

“An Arithmetic ? — no harm.” 

u This is the History of France.” 

“ It will be no use here,” said Winning, ‘ we only read Ro- 
man and Grecian History.” 


36 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ) 


Reuben coloured again, — “It’s only to keep up my know 
ledge,” he said : “ I learned it at home.” 

“ And it appears you learned Geology at home, too, Medli- 
cott. Your mother must be omniscient. — What is Geology ? — 
pray enlighten me.” 

Winning was holding the book in his hand, turning the 
pages rather disdainfully, and smiling while he asked the ques- 
tion. The smile and expression of ridicule confused poor Reuben, 
and he gave a very confused account of the objects of Geology, 
very like one of his mother’s precise definitions. 

“It seems much the same as Geography,” said the elder, “by 
your account of it. We do not neglect that at Finchley ; but, 
of course, we have nothing to do with anything but the ancient 
world — Attica, Asia Minor, the Islands in the -dSgean Sea ; we 
learn all about them of course.” 

“ And nothing about America,” cried Reuben, with subdued 
amazement, “ or the British dominions in India ?” 

“ This is not a mercantile school, Medlicott ; it’s a classical 
school. We have nothing to do with America or India. I 
suppose they read about India in the East India College.” 

“ That’s very odd,” said Reuben. “ I thought every part of 
the world was equally desserving of study.” 

“ And perhaps you may be right in the abstract, Medlicott,” 
said Winning, looking intently at his new acquaintance, and 
struck at once by his modesty and precocious enlargement of 
views ; “ but we cannot learn everything at school, or anywhere 
else. Certain studies are appointed here, and it is expected that 
we shall devote ourselves to them, not perhaps exclusively, but 
at least so closely, that I can tell you, Medlicott, there is not 
much time to do a great deal besides, unless we could manage to 
do without food, sleep, and cricket.” 

“Not much time, I dare say,” said Reuben, “but you admit 
there is some : when I have a leisure moment I suppose I may 
read any of my books I please.” 

“ Under my rule you may. — Now that’s magnanimous, is it 
not ?” said Winning, “ for I can tell you, Medlicott, there are 
some men here, who, while I have been quietly looking over 
your motley library, would have weeded it without the least 
compunction, and consigned your French History, Botany, and 
Geology, Veneris marito , — do you know 1 who that is ?” 

“ V ulcan,” replied Reuben promptly. 

Winning now clapped him good-naturedly on the back, 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


37 


called him a promising fellow, only a little too desultory in his 
habits of reading, and ended by telling him that he might read 
what he liked, on condition only that he did not neglect the 
business of the school, or defraud himself of the time necessary 
for sleep and exercise. 

“ But did you come from Underwood and bring me no let- 
ters, messages, or anything ?” 

“ Oh, I quite forgot, — I have a parcel for you,” said Reuben, 
greatly fluttered, and ransacking the bottom of the box. 

“ Stupid : and why did you not give it to me the first thing 
you did ? — from whom is it ? 

“ From your aunt Winning, of course.” 

“ And did she send me nothing else V 1 

“ Nothing but a letter.” 

“ Do you call that nothing ? — you are a fine fellow, — as to 
the letter, I presume you have lost it — come, let me try — if it is 
in the box, I’ll soon ferret it out.” 

“Permit me,” said Reuben, eagerly but humbly. 

He was uneasy lest Winning should discover the silk purse, 
and still more afraid of his finding the plumb-cake, which he 
felt quite ashamed of, and had only carried with him out of his 
affection and respect for old Mrs. Hopkins. But Winning was 
resolved to search for himself, and he soon found the letter, for 
he tossed about Reuben’s shirts and other things, without 
much ceremony, but he lighted at the same time, not on the 
plumb-cake, but upon Mademoiselle’s little present of the flask 
of Eau-de-Cologne. 

“ What have we got here ?” he cried, holding it up to the 
light : “ eh, what is this ? — is it wine 

“ Eau-de-Cologne — a scent,” said poor Reuben, in wonderful 
trepidation. 

“ Oh, a scent, is it ? — do you know what we do with scents 
at Finchley ?” 

“No,” said Reuben. 

“ Come to the window, and I’ll show you what luxurious 
fellows we are.” 

Winning walked over to the window, followed by Reuben, 
very curious to see the use his friend was going to apply the 
Eau-de-Cologne to. 

The room was on the third story, and there was a paved 
court beneath the window. Winning desired Reuben to look at 
a particular stone, and then holding the flask between his finger 


38 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 

and thumb, he dropped it critically over the spot, wlere, of 
course, it was shattered in some thousand pieces, sprirkling the 
court for some yards round with that agreeable perfume to which 
a thousand dowel’s are said to contribute. 

“ Ate w r e not luxurious fellows, eh ? — to water our pavement 
with Eau-de-Cologne !” 

Reuben looked extremely chagrined. 

“ My dear fellow,” said Winning, patting him on the bach, 
“ the scent is much better there than in your box. If the fellows 
here w r ere to find out that you scented yourself, or had scents 
in your possession, you would never hear the end of it. Now” 
go and put your things in order — I must read my good aunt’s 
letter” 

The boys soon became cordial friends ; Henry Winning 
exercising a mild protective despotism, and Reuben reasonably 
abstemious from supernumerary pursuits, for which in truth 
the routine of the seminary, (its amusements as well as its 
business,) left him but little leisure. The example and influence 
of Winning were signally useful to young Medlicott, who not 
only prosecuted his classical studies with almost uninterrupted 
assiduity for the greater part of a year under the auspices of his 
judicious and spirited friend, but following his footsteps also in 
other things, began to take pleasure in gymnastic exercises, 
which materially improved his health and added to the attrac- 
tion of his person. Winning stimulated his ambition upon 
these points by dwelling on the vast importance attached to them 
by the ancient Greeks, who were at the same time the most 
literary and intellectual people in the world. This was a view 
of the matter which seized hold of Reuben’s imagination power- 
fully. In conjunction with two boys named Primrose and 
Vigors, aided by a few admiring followers, he projected a revival 
of the Olympic games on the play-ground of Finchley, and they 
actually commenced putting the design experimentally into exe- 
cution by hiring two donkey-carts belonging to a coster-monger 
in the vicinity; and starting them against each other, by way of 
a chariot-race. Reuben dubbed himself Phaeton ; Vigors was 
Salmoneus. The donkeys were named after the horses of the 
Sun. This aspiring piece of puerility ended in the two chario- 
teers being left sprawling in the dust of the mock hippodrome; 
Salmoneus getting a broken nose, and Phaeton coming still 
worse off with a violent sprain of his ancle. Primrose took no 
very active pait in this Olympic experiment, but he composed a 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


39 


Pindaric ode in celebration ot it, the concluding stansa of which, 
with a serio-comic allusion to the catastrophe, obtained the ap- 
plause of Mr. Brough himself. 

But Reuben’s social experiences are perhaps better worth 
relating than his experiences as a schoolboy ; the acquaintances 
he made, and the connexions he formed at Hereford, had full as 
much influence upon his future career as the Latin and Greek he 
learned, and the nonsense verses he composed. 

He heard a great deal of the Barsacs from Winning and other 
boys, but for one reason or another, much to his disappointment, 
a considerable time elapsed before he received any of that civil- 
ity and attention from them which his grandfather’s talk had led 
him to expect. At length, as if they had suddenly heard of 
him for the first time (which may have been actually the case) 
he was included in a very general invitation of Mr. Brough’s 
scholars to a juvenile fete, or ball ; the event excited him great- 
ly ; he recollected accurately every word of what the Dean had 
said about the Barsacs, in praise or abuse of them ; and in 
Blanche, whom his grandfather had so repeatedly and energeti- 
cally pronounced “ an angel,” Reuben almost expected to find 
that flattering description true to the letter. 

The elements of dancing he had learned, as such things are 
to be learned in a place like Chichester ; but he had brought no 
dancing shoes with him from home, so he consulted his chief, 
and was strongly recommended by him to a little shop kept by 
a Frenchman, who sold wonderful nice shoes, and wonderfully 
cheap. 

“You and I, Medlicott,” added Winning, “must look sharp 
to economy ; neither of us have very splendid allowances ; in- 
deed I believe neither will have much but his industry and ta- 
lents to depend on through life.” 

“ So I have heard my father often say,” said Reuben. 

“ Well,” said Winning, “ you will find Monsieur Adolphe’s 
6hoes excellent and dog-cheap ; the shop is at the corner of one 
of the closes — I forget the name — but it is on the east side of 
the Cathedral, between a pastry-cook’s shop and a cutler’s : re- 
member the name is Adolphe.” 

It was a fine summer evening, and the shadow of the great 
square tower of the Cathedral of Hereford was thrown like a 
broad sombre mantle over the cluster of lanes and buildings to 
which Reuben had been directed by his friend. This shop was 
easily ascertained, for tlig name of Adolphe w r as freshly paintei in 


40 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 


sufficiently large letters over the door. Reuben entered and 
found a pale handsome young man, with shining black mous- 
tache, sitting without his coat on the little counter, and playing 
the flageolet. He had heard the air before : it was certainly one 
of those charming ones which Mrs.-' Winning’s obliging French maid 
had sung at the Vicarage on the day he left home. The young 
man jumped down, bowed with his national grace and politeness, 
and in very good English tendered his services and manufactures 
to his customer. The shoes seemed to justify Winning’s eulo- 
gies, and Reuben was soon fitted with a pair which promised 
both in shape and polish to make a pretty figure at Mrs. Barsac’s 
ball. While M. Adolphe was putting them up in paper, Reuben 
took up the flageolet to examine it, for he had never seen one 
before. 

“ Did Monsieur play the flageolet ?” 

“No, but it seemed a very sweet instrument.” 

“It is very easy,” said Adolphe: and taking it up again, 
played another little air, which was also one of those which Ma- 
demoiselle Louise had played and sung at Underwood. The 
musical shoemaker saw that his customer was very much pleased 
with the performance. 

“Ah ! but I cannot sing, Monsieur; it is the voice that makes 
the little romances of my country charmant; I have a sister who 
sings them like a nightingale.” 

Reuben lost no time in informing the shoemaker that he had 
heard the very same airs sung by a countrywoman of his at a 
house in the country near Chichester. 

“Ah, oui ! Chichester — Madame Winning — sans doute c’ 
6toit mademoiselle ma sceur : — elles chante ces petits romans la 
a ravir.” 

Our hero thought he had made some wonderful discovery in 
finding that Mrs. Winning’s French maid was the shoemaker’s 
sister, and he communicated the fact to Winning with the utmost 
gravity. . 

“ Is it not very singular ?” said Reuben. 

“Why,” said Winning, smiling at his simplicity, “ if a French- 
man and his sister live in England at all, and do not live in the 
same place, I see nothing prodigious in one living at Hereford 
and the other at Underwood.” 

“Why no,” said Reuben, “I see there k not, on reflection” 

But the occasion for wearing the shoes soon put the maker of 
them, and all connected with him, out of Reuben’s head for the 
time being. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


41 


CHAPTER IL 

MRS. BARSAO’S BALL. 

The long-expected evening came at last, and Reuben found him- 
self transported into the midst of a tumultuous assembly of well- 
dressed people, in the gay house of which he had so long desired 
to penetrate the interior. Except his school-fellows, he was ac- 
quainted with nobody. There was nobody to tell him the name 
of any one. Which of the company were the Barsacs, or whether 
they were present or not, he was in their house for an hour, with- 
out knowing more than the man in the moon, as the saying is. 
He knew the ball had commenced by hearing the music, feeling 
the floors vibrate, and finding himself swayed to and fro occa- 
sionally by the movements of the dancers, though he could 
scarcely see them. He wondered what had become of Winning, 
and paid close attention to the ladies in white dresses, among 
whom alone he expected to find Miss Blanche Barsac, so strongly 
had his grandfather’s description of her affected his imagination. 

Suddenly his shoulder was tapped behind. He turned about 
and found Winning at his elbow. 

“Why are you not dancing ?” said his friend. Reuben re- 
plied, with a faltering voice, that he would rather not dance ; he 
knew little more than the steps — had scarcely a notion of a 
figure. 

“ Not dance ? — then why did you buy the dancing-shoes ?” 

“ Besides, I have no partner. I know nobody — at least, no 
lady.” 

“Oh, I’ll soon settle that; — come, will you dance with brown 
sherry, pale sherry, or dry sherry ?” 

“ You are joking,” said Reuben, his gravity overcome by his 
friend’s question. 

“ No, — don’t you know that those are our names for the three 
Miss Barsacs? There is Brown Sherry, the prettiest, dancing 
with the officer; that cross-looking girl, talking to Mr. Brough 
yonder, is Dry Sherry ; and, stay, there’s Pale Sherry actually 
looking at us, asking us with her eyes. Ycu shall honour her 
with your hand.” 

“ What is her name?” asked Reuben, in great excitement. 

“ Blanche,” replied Winning, little guessing Reuben’s interest 
in the answer. 


42 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

Pale Sherry was pale ; but, at the same time, very pretty ; 
she was what people commonly call an interesting girl. She had 
soft grey eyes, which hid a particularly earnest fend devoted ex- 
pression in them, when she was talking to you, which was very 
flattering and very fascinating. Besides, she had a nice figure, 
and a demure and composed manner, which corresponded admi- 
rably with her pale complexion and soft eyes. None of the 
Barsac girls were mere girls : the eldest was probably twenty- 
seven, and there was not more than three or four years’ difference 
in standing between the eldest and the youngest. Of course it 
was condescending of the angelic Blanche to dance with a boy 
of thirteen ; but he was tall for his age, and she acted her part 
with perfect good-humour and good-nature, keeping him right 
in the figure as far as she could, and trying to put him as much 
at his ease as possible. Both were difficult things to do; not 
only was Reuben’s nervous ambition to excel of itself sufficient to 
lead him astray, but every time his partner’s mild, earnest eyes 
encountered his, he experienced the strangest sensations, and felt 
himself blushing, he knew not why or wherefore; in fact, he was 
in love with Blanche before the second part of the dance was 
over. 

“ Medlicott dancing! — I should as soon have thought to see 
Xenophon in a quadrille,” said De Tabley — one of the senior 
boys, — who, being a noodle himself, took a special pleasure in 
tormenting Reuben for being too wise. 

“ An ignoramus made that remark,” said Winning in his ear; 
“you ought to know that Xenophon was one of the gayest cava- 
liers of his time, as well as one of the ablest men.” 

De Tabley was extinguished, and skulked off to the refresh- 
ment-room to console himself with the sandwiches and jellies, for 
which his capacity was first-rate. 

Winning had given Reuben one direction at starting, which 
was just to observe his partner, and do whatever she did. This 
rule answered pretty well to a certain extent; but when it was 
pushed too far, it was not so successful ; for whenever Blanche 
danced, Reuben, being quite bewildered, insisted upon dancing 
also, and, when she checked him, he was utterly at a loss what 
to do, and, consequently stood stock-still when it came to his 
turn to move. This, however, was of no great consequence ; but 
there came a period in the course of the figure when it was Miss 
Barsac’s cue to advance to him, which she did most graciously 
and encouragingly, holding her frock with the tips of her fingers 


OR. TEE COMING MAN. 


43 


on each side in the usual manner of ladies dancing alone. It 
was unnecessary for Reuben to imitate this part of the action, 
but he was too confused to make very nice distinctions, and, ac- 
cordingly, when his turn came, he seized his trousers at the hips 
with both hands, and holding them out as far as he could make 
them go, advanced in this unusual manner to meet the lady, who 
found it very hard, of course, to refrain from smiling, particu- 
larly as he kept his eyes intently fixed upon her all the time. 
Others, however, were not so^vvell able or so well disposed to re- 
frain as Blanche was ; so that there was a good deal of laughing 
at poor Reuben’s expense, though some of the company thought 
he had done it out of pleasantry, and gave him credit for being 
a grave-faced, waggish little fellow. 

Happy fellow lie was when that quadrille was over, and Miss 
Barsac suffered him to lead her to a seat. Then Reuben, being 
more at his ease, thought it his duty to ask her a series of ques- 
tions, though he could scarcely muster up the courage to do it, 
or indeed to address her at all. Did she play the piano? She 
did. Did she sing? Pale Sherry did not sing. Did she ^raw ? 
Yes. Landscape? No. Flowers? No, no — how could he sus- 
pect her of drawing flowers ? and she looked at him in that pecu- 
liar way of hers, which incontinently brought the foolish rose to 
his cheeks, as he apologised for such an unlucky guess, and, trying 
again, hit upon portrait-painting, which could not well have been 
anything but right. It was then the lady’s turn to ask questions, 
and she was still more catechetical ; for she commenced by ask- 
ing his name, and being a better adept at the art of conversation 
by queries than he was, she soon distilled from him a multitude 
of particulars and details about his parents and his early educa- 
tion, in which she certainly seemed to take a great ii terest, 
whether she felt it or not. He was drawing her a picture of the 
Parsonage, and beginning to recover his fluency and feel toler- 
ably comfortable, when Winning came up and asked Pale Sherry 
to dance. She left Reuben with a smile, and he saw no more of 
her the whole evening. 

It was not a house for books, though in other respects amply 
and even luxuriantly furnished, or he would have known how to 
dispose of himself in a corner, while everybody else was thinking 
of nothing less than reading. After sitting for a while just where 
Blanche Barsac left him, with his hands before him, just in the 
way his old Quaker mistress considered the perfection of good 
manners, he took courage to creep into a room adjoining the ball- 


44 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


room, where there was a whist-party made up; Mr. Brough, his 
master, and Mrs. Barsac, against Mr. Barsac and an old lady 
whom he did not know. 

That whist-party would have made a good picture. Mr. 
Brough was a tall man, with regular feature*, florid complexion, 
powdered hair, a solemn manner, and, though not a clergyman, 
dressed like one — in the glossiest black suit and the whitest 
cambric. Opposite to him was a very old lady in black velvet, 
with a profusion of 'old lace hanging about her, and as intent 
upon the points of the game as if her eternal welfare depended 
upon the two by honours, which she had just marked with old 
guineas of the reign of George the First. Barsac, who was now 
shuffling the cards in canary-coloured gloves, looked social and good 
natured, but unmistakeably purse-proud ; he carried his head conse- 
quentially, with his chin cocked up almost in advance of his nose; 
displayed a superb bouquet in his button-hole, and wore a jet-black 
wig, which was intended to pass for his own hair, but the fraud 
was too palpable to impose upon anybody. His wife was a mel- 
low, motherly, brisk and shrewd woman, with sparkling e}’es, 
showy and bustling manners, and worldly all over ; you saw at 
a glance that a ball with her was a business ; even a juvenile 
fete had its ulterior practical objects ; indeed, Mrs. Barsac was 
fertile in every sense — she had lots of sons and daughters, of all 
sizes and ages, and as many projects for every one of them as 
any mother in Mrs. Gore’s novels. She was superbly dressed, 
like her husband ; a diamond star blazed on her forehead, arid 
the rustling of her wide-spread amber brocade was like a breeze 
in a shrubbery. 

Reuben had not been standing there very long, watching the 
fortunes of the game, of which he was not entirely ignorant, 
when Mrs. Barsac noticed him, asked him had he been in the 
refreshment room, and recommended him to go there. He went 
very obediently, although he did not want refreshment; took 
something because he thought he was under some sort of obli- 
gation to do so, and then returned to the ball-room, w here a new 
dance had in the meantime formed, which included everybody 
he knew, and left him again to his own meditations. He soon 
felt himself growing sleepy, and was rubbing his eyes to keep 
himself awake, when the eldest Miss Barsac — a “ill girl, with a 
supercilious and austere countenance, justifying the nickname the 
boys had given her, — observed him in passing with another lady, 
and said, in a tone perfectly audible — 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


45 


u That child ought to have been in bed an hour ago” 

This remark piqued Reuben exceedingly, and had the same 
elfect as if Dry Sherry had thrown a .glass of cold water in his 
face. Determined to show that he was not in the state Miss 
Barsac supposed, he went immediately and took his place behind 
Benry Winning, who was now dancing with the bustling and 
rustling Mrs. Barsac herself, though she protested her dancing 
days were over. 

She probably noticed him again, for Reuben could perceive 
that she put a question to his friend, in reply to which he was 
near enough to hear Winning say — 

“ He is a very clever fellow, and has a wonderful fund of 
knowledge for his age.” 

O o 

“ He knows Latin, Greek, Spanish, French, Arabic, and Per- 
sian ; Botany, Zoology, Mathematics, Conchology, Phrenology, 
and Syntax,” said De Tabley, volubly, just returned from stuffing 
himself with the jellies. 

Mrs. Barsac was amused and said — “ You boys are so funny 
and so ill-natured.” 

Winning looked thunderbolts at De Tabley ; but out of con- 
sideration for the lady of the house, repressed the indignant 
repartee that was on his lips. 

Reuben could not but suspect that it was for him all these 
compliments were intended, and not liking his present position 
he went off again to the refreshment-room, merely because he 
might as well go tnere as anywhere else. Before he had been 
there two minutes, Mr. Brough, his master, perceived him, and 
concluding that Reuben had been refreshing himself ever since 
Mrs. Barsac sent him from the card-table, he beckoned him to 
follow him into a quiet corner, where he read him a severe and 
solemn lecture upon intemperance, which Reuben endeavoured in 
vain to save him the trouble of delivering, by trying to explain 
that he had taken nothing the whole evening but some tea and 
a Naples biscuit. 

Mr. Brough never liked to be interrupted in the course of his 
admonitions, which were very grave and pompous. Every time 
that Reuben attempted to speak, he was silenced by the lifted 
finger and austere regard for the glossy pedagogue, who, when 
his harangue was over, immediately rose and went back to the 
whist-table. As Mr. Brough left the room, he met De Tabley 
returning to it. Mr. Brough patted him playfully on the head, 
— presumed he had been dancing all the evening —and told him 


46 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


to go and have some refreshment, — an order which the young 
gourmand received with profound, respect, and proceeded to obey 
implicitly ; but as soon as the schoolmaster was out of hearing 
he burst out laughing, and told Reuben that this was his fourth 
visit to the jellies and sandwiches. 

But on this occasion there was a formal supper at an early 
hour, to suit the habits of the juniors, who were the principal , 
part of the company. Reuben had never before seen anything 
so gorgeous as Mrs. Barsac’s supper-table. The plate — the lights 
— the variety of dishes, substantial and unsubstantial — the piles 
of fruit — the multiplicity of wines of all colours and vintages— 
the miracles of pastry — the wonders of confectionary — towers, 
castles, pyramids, and pagodas — a profusion and splendour which 
he had never seen in the quiet parish of Underwood — astonished, 
dazzled, and confused him. At the head of the table presided 
Mr. Barsac, standing up with a dish of roast ducks before him, 
which he carved with ostentatious dexterity, still wearing his 
canary gloves, and pausing at intervals to take wine with this 
person or that, making little jocular prepared speeches, suggesting 
madeira to one, hock to another, champagne to a third, and some- 
times recommending one of his sherries, which invariably set Mr. 
Brough’s pupils tittering, winking, and nudging each other, for 
they generally herded together upon these festive occasions, 
getting as far beyond the ken of the master as they could. 

Reuben, however, still attached himself to the side of Winning, 
who had no object in avoiding Mr. Brough’s neighbourhood, and 
the consequence was, that when Reuben was seated he found 
himself close to his master, who ruled the roast at the foot of the 
table, as pompously, but not so rhetorically, as Mr. Barsac at the 
other end. lie was not the boy to eat a surreptitious supper, or 
he might have managed it easily ; so that, to avoid again attract- 
ing Mr. Brough’s unjust suspicions, he affected to have no appetite, 
and went to bed supperless that festive night, although, in truth, 
the poor fellow was very hungry. Nor did he sleep the better 
for having nothing but his wrongs to digest, but occupied himself 
alternately with concocting twenty little speeches which he felt 
he ought to have made to Miss Barsac, and framing a spirited 
retort to demolish De Tabley the next time he should renew his 
impertinences. These were probably his earliest efforts in elo- 
quence, and it is not unlikely that his model-orator that night was 
Mr. Barsac with his canary gloves. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


47 


CHAPTER III. 

WORE FESTIVITY AT MRS. BARSAc’s. 

“Reuben,” said Winning, the next morning, “ a ball is thrown 
away on you ; you can’t expect Mrs. Barsac ever to invite you 
again.” 

“ Why so ?” said Reuben. 

“ Why, you neither danced nor eat supper ; Mrs. Barsac 
^ keeps a list of the men who don’t dance, and Mr. Barsac takes a 
note of those who despise his suppers.” 

“I shall dance more,” said Reuben, “when I am familiar 
with the figures ; I think I shall soon understand the principle at 
all events.” 

Winning laughed at the principle of a quadrille; and Reuben 
said he thought there was a principle in everything, to which 
Winning assented, though he laughed again. 

“But you surely bad no difficulty in catching the principle 
of supper. What have you to say for yourself on that head ?” 

Reuben then related what took place the preceding evening 
between himself and Mr. Brough ; how he had been lectured, 
and reprimanded for gounuandise , when in fact lie had taken 
next to nothing. 

Winning was distressed at this story, and undertook to set 
Lis friend right in Mr. Brough’s opinion. This he took an 
opportunity of doing that very day, and Mr. Brough sent for 
Reuben and very handsomely expressed his regret at having 
hastily misjudged him, adding some profound common-place re- 
marks on the hazards of circumstantial evidence, by which the 
safety of innocence had often been compromised, even under the 
direction of the ablest men that ever adorned the bench. Reu- 
Den went his way with a high opinion of his preceptor’s magna- 
nimity and enlightenment. Mrs. Barsac’s ball gave him a gveat 
many new ideas ; he had only heard of balls before as young 
Norval had heard of battles ; in a long letter to his mother he 
gave her as minute an account of the fete as if it had been the 
first thing of the kind ever known in England; aid amused her 
exceedingly by his innocent remarks on the ladies’ dresses, his 
mistakes in dancing, and the absurd names of the three Miss Bar- 
sacs. Of Blanche he said wonderfully little, only observing that 
ti Ins opinion she seemed to justify all that his grandfather had 


43 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS I 


said about her. There was good reason to think that he had 
originally intended to say much more, for there was an extensive 
erasure in this part of his letter, as if he had not found words 
suitable to express certain ideas in his mind. In fact, the entire 
letter was written altogether to gratify his mother, because she 
had expressly requested him to give her a full account of his 
first introduction to the Barsacs ; no doubt he had tried to con- 
vey the feelings uppermost in his mind in connection with the 
ball, and had either failed to do so, or clothed them in language 
only too forcible. 

The Barsacs had another gay party shortly after, but it was 
not especially juvenile, and the only boys formally invited of 
Mr. Brough’s school were Winning, Vigors, and De Tabley. 
Reuben was seriously afraid his name had been inserted in those 
awful lists of which Winning had told him : he received an invita- 
tion, however, at the eleventh hour, for which he was accident- 
ally indebted to the interest he took in Gothic architecture, and 
a smattering he had of drawing. On the evening of the party, 
to console himself for Mrs. Barsac’s omi«on to include him in 
her select list, he determined to execute a design he had formed 
some time before, to make a sketch of the cathedral for his 
mother ; so taking his portfolio and pencil, he posted off to that 
venerable pile, and having chosen what he considered the best 
point of view, he was so busily engaged at his work that he took 
very little notice of the circle of urchins, which the oddity of his 
employment in so public a place gathered about him in a few mo- 
ments. However, before his sketch was quite finished, another class 
of spectators were amongst the observers of his artistic enthusiasm, 
for hearing some female voices close by him, and one or two 
pleasant tittering laughs, he looked up and found the whole 
family of the Barsacs (at least the female portion of them) stand- 
ing within a yard of his elbow. Fortunately his sketch w as 
nearly complete, for to have put another touch to it that evening 
would have been utterly impossible. He put up his pencils in a 
hurry, not without some blushing, and answered confusedly the 
numerous little questions with which the ladies overwhelmed him, 
without indeed giving him much time to reply, had he been ever 
so self-possessed. Mrs. Barsac was gracious and encouraging; 
her daughter, the brunette, was good-natured too, but it was her 
laugh which had originally attracted Reuben’s attention, and 
she had scarcely done laughing yet. The eldest girl said very 
litde, but what she did say was supercilious and unpleasant. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


49 


Blanche alone of the sisters regarded the young artist and his 
work with interest ; she commended his drawing highly, said it 
was executed with spirit and cleverness ; and induced her mother 
and her good-humoured sister to concur in the same opinion. 
Reuben soon revived in the warmth of this agreeable approba- 
tion, and he was completely set up again when Mrs. Barsac in- 
vited him to join her party, politely apologizing for not having 
asked him before. He walked palpitating by the side of Blanche 
discovering new fascinations in her every moment, and did 
not recollect in the first happy flutter of his spirits that she was 
an artist as well as himself ; but this community of tastes soon 
became a fertile topic of conversation, and Reuben was soon so 
deep in the subject of the fine arts as to ask if Miss Barsac had 
read Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Discourses. She smiled very sweetly, 
as she frankly owned she had never even heard of the work, upon 
which Reuben with empressement , offered to lend them to her, — 
an offer she graciously accepted just as they reached the house. 

Reuben went back to Finchley to put himself in ball costume, 
and there he found a letter from home awaiting him, which, im- 
patient as be was to be at Blanche’s side again, he read consci- 
entiously to the last syllable. The reading of his letters, and the 
making of his toilette, occupied a considerable time, and when 
both operations were performed, he had to hunt for Sir Joshua 
Reynolds’s Discourses, which detained him a good deal longer, 
for he was not in the habit of keeping his things very methodi- 
cally. The result was that he found the festivities already com- 
menced when he returned to Mrs. Barsac’s : one dance had 
already taken place ; another had just been arranged, and when 
Reuben entered he made a great sensation, greater indeed than 
he was ambitious of making, for with his books in his hands he 
had to traverse the whole circle (hemmed in by the dancers 
awaiting the signal to move), in order to find the fair lady for 
whom so unusual a ball-room offering was intended. 

He probably did not observe the smiles of which he was the 
occasion, but he could hardly have failed to hear some of the 
little jocular remarks which accompanied them ; however, his 
enthusiasm, and singleness of purpose, carried him through all, 
and he presented Blanche with the volumes, under a perfect con- 
viction that no bouquet of the most rare and exquisite flowers 
would have been half so acceptable to her. While she was de- 
positing the books in a corner, sedulously attended by Reuben, 
Mrs. Barsac happening to pass &t the moment inquired what 


50 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


books they were, and w r hen Reuben told her they contained Rey- 
nolds’s Discourses, she probably mistook Reynolds for a divine ; 
for “ I doubt very much,” she observed, with a gracious smile on 
Reuben, “ if they are to be compared with the discourses of your 
grandpapa.” 

Reuben would have enjoyed this second party much more 
than he did, if there had not been a whisper in the room that the 
Dean was expected in the course of the evening. None of his 
school-fellows were fond of meeting his grandfather at Mrs. Bar- 
sac’s. The Dean in a drawing-room was always like an eagle in 
a dove-cot ; he looked at a ball like a clerical magistrate about 
to disperse a mob ; but it was not to the dancing he objected 
particularly, for he was rather in favour of all such innocent pas- 
times ; the music was what he hated, because it prevented him 
from holding forth, or drowned his voice when he raised it. If 
there could have been dancing without music, he was willing to 
let the young people dance till morning, provided he was satis- 
fied of the strength of the rafters, and not jostled by the waltzers, 
which made him furious. The Dean was rough with most peo- 
ple, sometimes even with women, but he was invariably rough 
with school-boys ; he knocked them about without ceremony, 
examined and catechised them in all companies, and in the mid- 
dle of dinner, or at a tea-table, would question them in the Ho- 
ratian metres. When he saw any of the scholars of Finchley at 
Mrs. Barsac’s, talking to one of her daughters, for instance, and 
particularly ambitious to shine and to play the man, he was sure 
to flout him ; and above all if the poor boy happened to wear 
white gloves and was asking a lady to dance. Then the Dean 
would make the most unpleasant observations, sometimes turn 
upon Mrs. Barsac, abuse her . roundly, and declare that she was 
destroying the discipline of Mr. Brough’s school, and ruining the 
rising generation. 

But the gaieties of the present occasion were not interrupted 
by his grandfather, further than the damp which the continual 
apprehension of his appearance threw over some of the company. 
Mrs. Barsac herself seemed nervous. Blanche declined to dance, 
but she permitted and even encouraged Reuben to sit beside her 
and talk about books, which she seemed to like to talk about ; 
or rather to hear him expatiating on, for in truth her share in the 
conversation was little more than that of an attentive and flatter- 
ing listener. Sometimes, however, she appeared to have little 
short fits of abstraction, and now and then glanced like her 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


51 


mother anxiously at the door. Reuben easily guessed who the 
ogre was, whose expected arrival alarmed the* fan* Blanche as it 
did other people. He felt extremely vexed at his grandfather; 
yet sometimes he was almost half inclined to allay Blanche’s ap- 
prehensions, by apprising her of the high opinion the rough old 
gentleman had of her. Wanting the courage to do this, he 
asked her in what part of the house the library was ; he had not 
yet seen it. 

Blanche smiled at the notion of a library, and said, “ her 
papa had very few books indeed.” 

Reuben did not conceal his surprise at this confession as well 
as it would have been polite to do. 

“ I feared it would shock you,” continued his fair friend, “but 
we are not at all intellectual or reading people in this house : — 
of course you have a nice library at home.” 

“ Well, indeed,” said Reuben, “I cannot exactly say we have 
any particular library, but we have a great many books in one 
place or another ; there are some in the parlour, some in the 
hall, and a good many in my mother’s room. But my grand- 
father has a superb library at Westbury and then he asked 
Blanche had she ever been there. 

She had been at Westbury, and expressed her surprise that 
Reuben had not. 

“ My grandfather has been making extensive alterations,” he 
said. 

“ So I am told,” said Blanche absently. 

Reuben desired to know the nature of the improvements the 
Bern was making. 

“I understand very little about building,” said Blanche, 
rising, “ but here comes papa who will tell you all about it ;” and 
so saying she rather abruptly handed Reuben over to Mr. Barsac, 
who,* with great pomposity, led him into a room called the music- 
room, where there were lying on a table a set of maps and plans, 
not only of the Dean’s improvements at Westbury, but also of 
the more extensive projects in which he was engaged jointly 
with the rich wine-merchant. Reuben surveyed these charts 
with the utmost astonishment and curiosity. He had heard 
vague statements of his grandfather’s connection with Barsac in 
building speculations, but he had no notion of the extent of them. 
The Hereford plans included a terrace called Wyndham terrace 
after the Dean, and a square not yet named, which Mr. Barsac 
said he hoped would be called Wyndh tm likewise. 


62 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


“ I hope so too,” said Reuben. 

“ At all events, I trust it will not be called Barsac Squa et 
that would never answer,” added the merchant, pronouncing the 
words “ Barsac Square,” with an evident relish and enjoyment 
which showed that he coveted nothing so much as the honour 
and glory winch he professed himself so anxious to avoid. 

“ I trust so, too, Sir,” said Reuben. 

“ But I trust it will,” said De Tabley, coming up : “ Barsac 
Square sounds a thousand times better than Wyndham Square, 
but Medlicott would call everything Wyndham ; Wyndham 
Square, Wyndham Terrace, Wyndham Lane, Wyndham every- 
thing” 

“ No, indeed,” said Reuben, mildly, “ I should do no such 
thing; I am not so foolish.” 

“ I must say I agree with Mr. Medlicott in this instance,” said 
Barsac; but though he agreed with Medlicott, he smiled upon 
De Tabley, and graciously conducted him to the refreshment- 
room, leaving the too candid Reuben to shift for himselh 

“ What will you have ?” asked the merchant. 

“ What do you recommend ?” said De Tabley. 

“Well, suppose we begin with the pate de Perigord.” And 
he helped him handsomely. 

“ A very good pie,” said De Tabley ; “ I should think Peri- 
gord must be a delightful place to live in, wherever it is.” 

“Near Bordeaux,” said Mr. Barsac; “you have heard of the 
celebrated Talleyrand, Prince of Perigord. — So a glass of claret 
will be very proper along with it. That’s the comet vintage ; 
by-the-by, I should be glad if your uncle knew we had some of 
it left ; it is a great favourite of his.” 

“ I shall be writing to him to-morrow,” said De Tabley ; “ I’ll 
ake care to mention it.” 

“ Some ham and chicken 1” said the merchant : “ I shall 
have some myself: and now, if you please, let us take a glass of 
champagne together.” 

“A very good notion,” said De Tabley ; and when he had 
dispatched the ham and chicken, he returned the compliment, 
and proposed a- glass of champagne to the merchant. 

“You take champagne,” said Barsac; “I’ll join you in a 
glass of dry sherry.” 

De Tabley laughed, and looked about him for Winning or 
Vigors to wink at. Barsac thought he was amused by the 
epithet “ dry” applied to the sherry, and gave him a little lecture 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


53 


upon wines, to which the promising young gourmand listened 
with the gravest attention, — helping himself meanwhile, however, 
to a lobster salad within his reach. Hearing that there was such 
a wine as dry champagne as well as dry sherry, he was curious 
to taste it, but there happened to be none upon the table. 

“I dare say you have some in the cellar,” said De Tabley; 
and he pressed Barsac to such a degree, that he actually 
went to his cellars and brought forth a flask of dry champagne 
to gratify the curiosity of his impertinent guest, whose vanity 
made him pronounce a high panegyric upon it, though in truth 
he liked the sweet wine better. 

Barsac soon .saw the necessity of drawing De Tabley away 
from the temptation into which he had led him ; and this was 
no easjr matter to accomplish. At length he effected it, but not 
until the incorrigible young gourmand had returned to the sweet 
champagne, and was beginning again to ogle the Perigord. 

“ See what you lost by your simplicity, and I must say by 
your rudeness,” he whispered Reuben, whom he immediately 
went in search of. “I thought Barsac Square just as absurd as 
you did, but I had the wit and good manners not to say so.” 

“ What did I lose ?” asked Reuben. 

“ Dry champagne,” said De Tabley, with an air of great im- 
portance, “ though I confess I think the other pleasanter stuff ; 
but the best of it was that I made the old cock go down to the 
cellar for it : he brought up a flask expressly for me. At the 
same time, I know very well he wanted me to recommend the 
wine to my uncle, who gets the house immense custom in the 
clubs he belongs to in London.” 

“Then all I lost was the dry champagne?” said Reuben. 

“ Old Barsac gave me such a magnificent supper. I had ham 
and chicken, lobster salad, two goes at a Perigord pie. Perigord 
is a place in Bordeaux, famous for its pies ; they are made by a 
celebrated fellow of the name of Tally — something: Tallyho, or 
Talleyrand, a prince — you may laugh, but Mr. Barsac himself 
told me so. I had a magnificent supper; I have got a capital 
bead.” 

“ For wine,” said Reuben. 

“Yes, for wine, as every great man ought to have,” replied 
De Tabley. “ I have heard my uncle often say so ; I wish you 
could hear the anecdotes he tells of Pitt, and Fox, and Lord 
Eldon, and all the most celebrated characters in English history.” 

“ Not all,” said Reuben. 


64 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


“ All the jolly fellows,” said De Tabley. 

Reuben said something disparaging of the pleasures of the 
bottle. 

“ Don’t abuse wine in this bouse,” said De Tabley, “ or per- 
haps you will never be invited again ; the Barsacs have an eye 
to the main chance, let me tell you, every one of them, even Pale 
Sherry herself, sentimental as she looks.” 

Reuben boiled with indignation. 

“ I can tell you more,” said the other, excited by the wine he 
had drunk; “you made a monstrous ass of yourself to-night, 
coming here with your hands full of books, as if it was the Phi- 
losophical Society. Everybody laughed at you, even Pale Sherry 
herself — I saw her ; she would have preferred a bouquet of roses 
and pinks, I can tell you.” 

Reuben was greatly provoked by these remarks, and would 
perhaps not have controlled his feelings sufficiently, if Winning 
had not fortunately approached at the moment, conducting 
Blanche to the refreshment-room. As Winning passed, he good- 
naturedly proposed to Reuben to join them, remembering the 
Lent he had kept on a former occasion, and determined he row 
should have compensation. Seated between his considerate fric nd 
and the young lady he so greatly admired, Medlicott was in 
high spirits, and ended his evening with a good supper. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE VIC All’s ACCOUNT OF THE BARS ACS. REUBEN SHOWS A TALENT 
FOE MUSIC. HIS FIRST AND HIS LAST PUGILISTIC CONTEST. 

The following day, another chronicle of the gay doings at 
Mrs. Barsac’s was faithfully dispatched to the Vicarage. Mrs. 
Medlicott was charmed by the attention paid to her son ; but 
the Vicar recollected the Dean’s observations, and wanted to 
know how balls and suppers were to be reconciled with the 
business of the school. Mrs. Medlicott wished her son to receive 
the education of a man of the world ; her husband shrugged his 
shoulders, and said he had sent his son to school to Mr. Brough, 
not to Mrs. Barsac. 

Reuben’s correspondence with his mother recalls us for a few 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


55 


momenta to Underwood opportunely, for we shall hear the Vicar 
giving old Hannah Hopkins an account of the Barsacs, which 
will help us to a better acquaintance with that worthy family. 
The reading of Reuben’s letters was not always an affair of the 
strictest domestic privacy, which may serve as his excuse if he 
did not upon every occasion unbosom himself on paper, even to 
his father and mother. Sometimes Mr. Pigwidgeon, the apotlie 
cary, was invited to the reading of a letter from Hereford ; some- 
times it was only Hannah and Mary Hopkins, or old Matthew 
Cox, the tobacconist. The Quakeresses were present when the 
letter arrived with the account of Mrs. Barsac’s second fete, and 
Hannah was interested and inquisitive about the people who were 
so good to her old pupil. Possibly, though belonging to such 
an unworldly sect as the Quakers professedly are, and a woman 
who had even been a minister, and lifted up her voice in the 
Meeting, old Hannah had not thoroughly divested herself of all 
human sympathy and womanly concern in its gay doings and 
wicked ways. There will still cling some little portion of earth 
about us all, even about the disciples of Fox and sisters of Mrs. 
Fry. 

“ Pll tell thee all I know, Hannah, and it’s not much,” said 
the Vicar. He had fallen into the habit of thee-and-thou-ing it 
with his Quaker friends, without the least approach to mockery 
of their personal pronouns. 

Hannah Hopkins was sitting rigidly perpendicular on a rustic 
seat in the garden, beneath a walnut-tree, knitting, as usual, most 
industriously. It was an employment she seldom intermitted 
during the day, except when she was eating her meals, or collect- 
ing dowel’s and grasses. Mary was not far off, knitting also. 
There was a little table near Hannah, with a plate of strawberries 
upon it, and Reuben’s letter, which his mother had just been 
reading. 

“ I am ready to hear thee, friend Thomas,” said the Quaker 
mother ; “ thou art always instructive or entertaining.” 

“ Generally both, mother,” said Mary, who was burning in 
secret to hear the promised revelations, notwithstanding the plain- 
ness of her bonnet. 

The Vicar, thus complimented and encouraged, proceeded to 
say that the Barsacs were the people who understood , the art so 
well of making pleasure and profit go hand in hand. 

“Merry and wise,” said Hannah. 

Mrs. Barsac’s system, the Vicar went on to state, was (as far 


66 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS | 


as he understood it), to give balld to marry her daughters, whne 
her husband gave sumptuous dinners to advertise and recommend 
his wines. What would be extravagance with other people was 
thrift with the wine-merchant of Hereford. For every glass of 
champagne that sparkled at his board (here the Vicar digressed 
on the subject of champagne, to explain it to the Quakeresses), 
Mr. Barsac sold a flask, or perhaps a case of it. People had a 
decided interest in dealing with a wine-merchant who gave them 
handsome entertainments ; it was an abatement in the price of 
the wines ; in fact, a dinner was both an advertisement and a 
description of discount. m The balls were more to advertise the 
daughters, an article of which Mrs. Barsac had a large stock on 
her hands, as her husband had wine in his vaults ; but there was 
a great difference, said the Vicar, between the two commodities, 
for the older the wine grew it was the more in demand, whereas 
-with the girls it was not precisely the same thing. 

Here Mary Hopkins laughed. I believe it was the cautious 
way in which Mr. Medlicott put the distinction between women 
and wine that overset her gravity, but it was ne\ er very difficult 
to do it. 

“Laugh and be fat,” said old Hannah, an injunction which 
she repeated a dozen times a day, and very superfluously, inas- 
much as her daughter had already very dutifully complied with it. 

“ Well, Hannah,” said the Vicar, “ I have now 7 told you what 
the world says of Mi*, and Mrs. Barsac.” 

“There are wheels within wheels,” said the old Quakeress, 
shaking her head horizontally several times. 

“ Dost thee believe all the world says, friend Thomas ?” said 
Mary, recovering her sobriety. 

“ The world, Mary, has a very lively fancy, and a very busy 
tongue,” said the Vicar. “ My private opinion is that the Barsacs 
are very good-natured people, and if their good-nature and gaiety 
make them richer instead of poorer, I don’t see that any body has 
a right to complain. For my own part, theirs is just the house 
where I should feel myself most comfortable, for I never could 
enjoy myself anywhere, when I had reason to think my friends 
were committing a folly, or involving themselves in difficulties to 
entertain me.” 

“ And I am sure,” added Mrs. Medlicott, “ it is the purest 
good-nature to invite the boys, who neither buy Mr. Barsac’s 
wine, nor are likely to propose for his daughters.” 

The truth was, however, that the attentions paid to Mr. 


OE, THE COMING MAN. 


5Y 


Brough’s scholars were chiefly in furtherance of the system which 
the world very justly imputed to the wine-merchant and his wife. 
Their invitations were by no means indiscriminate, but confined 
to those boys whose fathers were customers of the firm, or with 
whose families the managing Mrs. Barsac thought it would pro- 
mote her interest to be acquainted or connected. Thus De Tabley 
was never omitted, because he was nephew of Sir John De 
Tabley, a beau and bon-vivant of the old school, whose influence 
procured for Barsac the profitable custom of the Noodle’s, and 
Boodle’s, and one or two other London clubs. Winning was 
nearly related to a Mr. St. Stephen, who was a bencher of the 
Inner Temple, through whom it was not impossible but that Bar- 
sac might some day or other be appointed wine merchant to that 
honourable and learned society. Several of the lads (Vigors for 
instance) were sons of beneficed clergymen in the neighbourhood ; 
and as to Reuben, he had the double claim of being nephew to 
Mrs. Mountjoy, connected with the Barsacs by marriage, and 
grandson of Dean Wyndham, who besides being actually a cus- 
tomer, was from his rank in the Church a man whom Mrs. Barsac 
would have probably courted upon that account alone. Of course 
if any young man was particularly handsome, amusing, or recom- 
mended by Mr. Brough, be was noticed by Mrs. Barsac without' 
reference to the mercantile interest. Winning would probably 
have been a favourite under any circumstances. There was Hya- 
cinth Primrose too, who had nothing to support him but his good 
looks and his flow of spirits. There were also one class of boys 
who were seldom or ever countenanced by Mrs. Barsac, and these 
were the sons of families who were in any trade which she con- 
sidered less dignified than traffic in wine. The Vicar understood 
the Barsacs very imperfectly, although he undertook to give Mrs. 
Hopkins an account of them. 

A shower now began to patter among the leaves of the wal- 
nut tree, which served the purposes of a green umbrella for some 
time tolerably well, but when the drops began to increase in 
weight and number they forced their way through the canopy, 
and one at length falling on Mrs. Hopkins’s knitting, and another 
with a splash on Reuben’s letter, the seance was broken up, and 
the party retreated into the house as fast as they could, Mary 
running with the plate of strawberries and laughing all the time. 
Let us take the same opportunity of returning to Hereford, where 
we shall find Reuben increasing the number of his accomplish- 
ments by picking up a few notes of music. 

3 * 


58 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


Meeting the French shoemaker in the streets one day, Adolphe 
gracefully saluted him, hoped his shoes gave him contentment, 
and asked when he would do him the honour of calling 
again and listening to an air on the flageolet. Reuben said he 
would call the next day. He kept his engagement, and the result 
was that from a listener he became a learner, and commenced 
flageolet-playing himself. After a few clandestine lessons, during 
which he improved his knowledge of French also, our hero began 
to reproach himself with concealing his new accomplishment from 
Winning, and also with occupying the time of a poor tradesman 
without reward ; but when he mentioned the latter scruple to 
Adolphe, them was an end of it; he professed shoemaking, not 
music ; but even if it had been otherwise, the glory of having so 
promising a scholar would pay him for his pains twenty times 
over; besides Monsieur Reuben would recommend his shoes; and 
through him and M. Vinning,the custom of all the school would 
be secured for his little commerce. 

The first intimation Winning had of Reuben’s flageolet-playing 
was unfortunately not from his friend and protege himself. I)e Tab- 
ley was jeering at Medlicott one morning on the now threadbare 
topic of his multifarious acquirements, when Winning eame up and 
told him impetuously that he would sutler no more of his imper- 
tinence upon that point ; that Medlicott was under his protection, 
and protect him he was resolved to do. It would be long enough 
before any one would taunt De Tabley with knowing too many 
things, or knowing any one thing decently. “ By the by,” he 
added, “ I recollect your insolence at Mrs. Barsac’s ball ; if I had 
not had a lady on my arm, I would have called you then to a 
severe account.” 

“ I only said what was true,” said De Tabley, moving to some 
little distance from Winning, for his courage was of that kind 
that is commonly called pot-valiant. 

“ It was not true,” said Winning, drily. 

“ It was,” repeated De Tabley, “ and I might have added 
music into the bargain.” 

“You would then have added another falsehood,” said ‘ 
Winning. 

“ Why Medlicott is taking lessons on the flute,” retorted the 
other. 

“ De Tabley, I sha._ be obliged to thrash you.” 

De Tabley moved a little further off, muttering — “It’s true 
nevertheless, and you know it as well as I do.” 


59 


OR, THE COMING Ma!n. 

Winning heard the muttered speech and dashed at him ; hut 
he had only given him one blow, which merely knocked his hat 
down over his eyes, when Reuben Medlicott rushing forward 
caught his arm, crying — 

“ Stop, Winning, — let him alone — what he says is true — at 
least nearly true — only it’s the flageolet, not the flute.” 

Winning turned round amazed upon Medlicott, and glaring 
on him like a tiger. 

“ Flute or flageolet, how do you come to be learning it with- 
out my knowledge and permission, — who’s your music-master ? 
answer this moment — the Jruth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth, or I’ll give you what I was going to give De Tab- 
ley, whose pardon I beg most humbly.” 

“ Hear me patiently,” said Reuben, “ and I’ll tell you all 
about it ; I was going to tell you all, when I was anticipated.” 

“ Don’t make your case worse than it is,” said Winning ; “ it’s 
bad enough as it stands, — follow me, I’ll examine you in private.” 

De Tabley had heard of our hero’s proceedings from the very 
best authority, namely Adolphe himself, from whom Winning 
would have heard the same story himself, had he chanced to 
have wanted a pair of shoes. 

Winning was very much disposed, upon the whole of the 
matter, to give Reuben a drubbing for want of straightforward- 
ness and candour. However, he was as merciful as he was 
strong, and spared his delinquent subject ; ordering him, how- 
ever, either to give up the flageolet forthwith, or obtain the prin- 
cipal’s sanction for continuing the shoemaker’s pupil. Reuben 
chose the latter side of the alternative, and obtained the permis- 
sion without much difficulty, no other conditions being imposed 
than an inquiry into the moral character of M. Adolphe, and the 
equally proper step of applying for the consent of his parents. 

His acquaintance with the French shoemaker occasioned a 
ludicrous mistake, and involved him in one of the few personal 
rencontres he was ever so unlucky as to be engaged in. A group 
of boys were standing talking under a colonnade one showery 
morning, waiting for the woather to clear up. They first talked 
of their fathers, and then of their grandfathers — at least as many 
as had grandfathers to talk of. De Tabley said his grandfather 
had been a judge. Vigors said his was a physician, and other 
boys made similar statements. The light-hearted Primrose said 
his father was a painter, and his grandfather a poet. 

u Is a poet a profession T said another. 


60 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


“ It’s a bad trade, I believe,” said Primrose, laughing ; “ at 
least my grandsire found it so, for he left my father nothing but 
his poems, which with my father’s pallet will descend to me ; so 
that at all events I shall have two estates, such as they are.” 

After the boys had laughed at this speech, one of them named 
Peters, looked excessively knowing, and said there was a boy in 
the school whose grandfather was a barber. Some laughed doubt- 
ingly, and some cried, “ name, name.” Peters at first refused, 
but upon being taunted with being afraid to speak out, for fefr 
of being thrashed by the barber’s descendant ; he declared that 
he meant Medlicott. De Tabley called instantly to Reuben, only 
too happy to tell him of the serious charge brought against him 
by Peters. 

Reuben laughed, and said he thought they all knew that 
Dean Wyndham was his grandfather. 

“ That w r e know very well,” said De Tabley ; “ but I presume 
you sport two grandfathers ; — at least I do.” 

“ So do I,” said several boys, chuckling at De Tabley’s wit. 

Now it happened that Reuben knew very little of his paternal 
grandfather, except that he had been in trade ; so when he was 
pressed to say what station in life that venerable gentleman had 
filled, the only answer he could think of was that he had been 
in business. 

“ Then Peters is right enough, I have no doubt,” said De 
Tabley, insolently. 

“ He is not,” said Reuben, glowing like a live coal. 

Peters repeated his assertion ; Reuben repeated his contra- 
diction. 

“ Give him the lie,” said a friendly boy at his elbow. 

Reuben, altogether unused to rude language, hesitated. 

“ He has the barber’s blood in him, for a thousand pounds,” 
said De Tabley. 

Reuben was now stung to the quick, and instantly pro- 
nounced the decisive monosyllable. 

They fought three awkward rounds, Reuben with the disad- 
vantage of being new to such encounters, and having only one 
boy to back him ; while Peters, with little more experience in 
pugilism, had the advantage of being the general favourite. In 
the second round one of Reuben’s blue eyes was metamorphosed 
into a black one, but Peters in return received a random saluta- 
tion on the nose, which was a fair exchange for the damage he 
had inflicted. Winning came up just as the third commenced. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


61 


There was no time to inquire how the quarrel originated. Win- 
ning merely took his place among the spectators, but that was a 
great point for Reuben, who, being now supported by the pre- 
sence of his patron, as well as by the justice of his quarrrel, 
speedily vanquished his antagonist, who had no great stomach 
for blows. 

“ Now,” said Winning, “ -what has all this been about ?” 

De Tabley told him the whole story, and Peters said that 
his authority was Adolphe, the French shoemaker. 

“ I think,” said Winning, “ Mediicott himself is a better au- 
thority on a matter of the kind than Adolphe or any one else 
can possibly be. The whole affair is supremely ridiculous ; let 
us go to Adolphe, and find out how the mistake arose.” 

The matter was easily explained. It arose out of a confused 
account the shoemaker had received from his sister Louise, of 
the hair-cutting scene at the Vicarage the night before Reuben 
left home for school. 

Adolphe was so profuse of apologies for having retailed the 
story to Peters, and in such an abyss of affliction at the conse- 
quences of his indiscretion, particularly when he saw his pupil’s 
black eye, that Reuben’s resentment lasted a very short time in- 
deed. 

Yet his black eye w r as a serious disaster, for while his face 
was still disfigured with it, the Barsacs invited Winning and him 
to a family dinner. Reuben refined bitterly at not being in a 
condition to accept an invitation which flattered him more than 
any he had yet received, and over and over repeated his injunc- 
tions to his friend to assure both Mr. and Mrs. Barsac that the 
written excuse he had sent, pleading the effects of an accident, 
was a bond fide one. AVhat he secretly dreaded most was that 
Blanche Barsac should think he preferred any pleasure in the 
world to the light of her sweet eyes, which would, indeed, have 
been doing him great injustice; for the saint injke song was not 
more diligent to shun the eyes of the hapless Kathleen than Reu- 
ben had been to pursue Blanche’s, ever since he had first basked 
in their lustre. He had not, indeed, been often successful. The 
hours of business seemed often to have been expressly arranged 
to cross his more agreeable occupations ; nay, even those of re- 
creation were unaccommodating enough ; for he was as much at 
Winning’s disposal as Mr. Brough’s, and the two taskmasters 
appeared on some occasions, in a conspiracy to thwart him. 
Since the second ball at Mrs. Barsac’s, he had never seen Blanche 


62 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 

but twice, — once in the dusk of the evening, walking with a bevy 
of ladies and an old gentleman, very like his grandfather ; and 
again, coming out of the Cathedral after divine service, when lie 
even touched her dress, though in the crowd she was not aware 
of his presence. Nothing provoked Reuben more than the stupid 
system Mr. Brough had of taking his boys to the Church of All 
Saints instead of the Cathedral, where the service was so much 
more solemnly performed, and where the Barsacs invariably went. 

Misfortune, indeed, may be said to have persecuted Reuben 
at this epoch ; for when the next festivity took place at the wine- 
merchant’s, and there was no black eye to prevent him from 
sharing it, Blanche was from home, on some visit to relations, as 
she had often been when poor Reuben was running in all direc- 
tions to catch a glimpse of her. 

It was most probably about this period that Reuben’s young 
brain, excited by the action of his susceptible heart, began first 
to secrete that particular humour called poetry, a certain quan- 
tity of which (be the quality what it may) is supposed by some 
philosophers to exist in the head of every man born of woman. 
It is not very clear, however, whether he wrote poetry before he 
wrote prose, or whether the productions came forth in the reverse 
order. Probably the two fountains within him began to flow 
much about the same time; for Hyacinth Primrose had unques- 
tionably commenced distinguishing himself both in prose and 
rhyme, and it was not likely that the versatile and imitative 
Reuben was far behind him in the one accomplishment more 
than the other. Reuben and Primrose fraternised early. Among 
other enterprises, they established a manuscript magazine, of 
which they were joint editors, and almost the sole contributors ; 
60 that, between the business of the school and the business they 
made for themselves, they had work enough on their hands for 
their leisure hours, especially Reuben, who bad his flageolet to 
practise and Blanche to think of into the bargain. The business 
of the school, however, was not neglected, for both Reuben and 
Hyacinth loved the classics. Reuben’s first essay of any length 
in verse was a translation of the story of Pyramus and Thisbe, 
which, in point of merit, challenged comparison with the drama 
of the same name, enacted by Mr. Bottom and his company, — - 
a drama which is believed, upon valid grounds, to be the work 
of Shakspeare himself. Neither Mr. Brough nor Henry W in- 
ning, therefore, had any ground for complaint, and neither of 
them did complain, — Mr. Brough because he knew nothing 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


63 


about tlie literary labours in question, and Winning because he 
was extremely busy himself, and his good sense pointed out the 
folly of interfering too much in the Character of a Mentor, even 
with a boy whom he loved as he did Reuben. 




CHAPTER V. 

A CHAPTER OP GOOD ADVICE AND OF GOOD INTENTIONS. 

The time, indeed, soon came for Henry Winning to leave school 
for college. A brilliant career was evidently before him ; for to 
talent he united industry, and to both high principle and frank 
popular manners. He had a manly person, moreover, a good 
constitution, and a good voice, so that he possessed the physical 
as well as the intellectual qualities which the bar requires; for 
that was the profession upon which, no less by his own inclina- 
tion than by the advice of his relative and guardian, Mr. St. 
Stephen, he had fixed his choice. Winning was sorry to part 
with Reuben, appreciating his amiable disposition, and recognis- 
ing his abilities while he perceived the radical faults of his cha- 
racter, and had done all in his power to correct them. 

“ You are too versatile and too squeezable, my dear fellow,” he 
said, as they strolled in the fields together the day before their 
separation ; u those are your defects, if it is not presumptuous in 
me to tell you of them.” 

With the greatest sincerity, Reuben thanked him for taking 
so friendly a liberty. 

“ You take impressions too readily, and pursue too many ob- 
jects, not reflecting that life is so short that there is no more than 
time for a fair degree of success in some one leading pursuit. 
Ars longa , vita brevis — you remember that pregnant aphorism 
of Hippocrates. What I now say to you is not any wisdom of 
my own, for I possess none and I pretend to none ; it is what my 
guardian, Mr. St. Stephen, one of the ablest and most successful 
men of the day, has always impressed upon my mind, and firm- 
ly believing in its truth and importance, I would be glad, my 
dear fellow, to impress it in ■urn upon yours. I have observed, 
although. I have sakl very little to you on the subject, how Prim- 
rose has been influencing you of late ; you have been writing 


64 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ! 


essays and making verses because he does so, just as you took 
up the flageolet because your shoemaker played it; in fact, you 
possess a great many talents, a facility for picking up almost 
everything that you see done by any body ; and pardon me if I 
add, that you seem more disposed to hearken to the praises of 
shallow people who call you a clever fellow for all this, than to 
believe me, for example, when I try to show you the dangers 
of it.” 

Reuben pleaded guilty to every charge but that ~of swallow- 
ing the sort of compliments alluded to by his friend ; but prob- 
ably his conscience smote him that there was something even in 
that accusation not altogether unfounded in truth. 

Reuben had as yet scarcely thought of a profession. The 
Church had always been his father’s plan for him, but the sub- 
ject had not received mature consideration, either from himselt 
or his parents. There seemed time enough to discuss the ques- 
tion in the case of a boy under sixteen. Winnie g, however, 
now spoke of it in his direct practical way, wishing to discover 
whether Medlicott had any strong leaning towards any particu- 
lar vocation, and hoping that, like himself, he would decide in 
favour of the Law. But neither law, physic, nor divinity had as 
yet seized hold of Reuben’s imagination. He thought it likely 
that the Church would eventually be his destiny ; but he was 
equally disposed to the bar, and he had no decided dislike to the 
notion of physic. S^ch ideas of a career as Reuben had were 
of the most confused, but most high-flown and disinterested 
character. He had no notion of emolument at all, or of prose- 
cuting any pursuit with a view to make money by it. Winning, 
although his character was ingenuous, and had even a noble 
strain, had already caught the worldly spirit, without which 
worldly success is not very easily attained ; but Medlicott had 
not a conception of lucre. In his pure romantic mind, 
divinity was indeed divine, and every other calling was almost 
as ethereal as divinity : when he thought of the law, it was only 
as the science of justice, unpolluted by the notion of a fee ; and 
when medicine took its turn in his cogitations, the notion he had 
of a physician’s life was a sort of Quixotic ramble through the 
world, tilting with disease and pestilence, out of mere unadul- 
terated philanthropy. 

It was very clear that the time was not yet come for coupling 
the wisdom of the serpent with the innocence of the dove in 
young Medlicott’s understanding. Winning, however, was far 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


65 


from ridiculing or despising him for this. On the contrary, he 
could not help thinking to himself how few boys he had ever met 
with who were not more or less infected prematurely with the 
sordid spirit of life ; and though he would have wished Reuben’s 
head a little harder, he found an attraction in his rare simplicity, 
and parted from him with a feeling of strong and tender attach- 
ment. 

“ Well, Reuben,” was his last observation, “as to the profes- 
sion, you have lost no time; it is a subject on which the minds of 
most people waver a considerable time before they fix ; your pre- 
sent business is the knowledge and preparation equally necessary 
for all professions. Mind that steadily. Hoc age — another preg- 
nant maxim ; let me hear from you ; I shall be backwards and 
forwards a good deal between Cambridge and Lincoln’s Inn.” 

The young men parted affectionately, in a few hours after the 
preceding conversation, and the next day, in the same place, 
Reuben was sauntering with Hyacinth Primrose, the poet’s grand- 
son, repeating to him the sage counsels he had received from his 
friend ; resolving himself to be guided by them rigidly and un- 
swervingly for the future, and deeply impressed with the duty of 
making Primrose a convert to them also. Hyacinth was, indeed, 
profoundly impressed for a minute or two with the sound wisdom 
of Winning’s remonstrances, and, pulling out a pocket Shak- 
speare, introduced Reuben to that splendid passage in “Troilus 
and Cressida,” where Ulysses, in a strain so wise and eloquent, 
recommends the virtue of perseverance : 

“ Perseverance, dear my lord, 
keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang 
Quite out of fashion. Take the instant way, 

For honour travels in a strait so narrow, 

"Where one but goes abreast. Keep the path, 

For emulation has a thousand sons 
That one by one pursue : if you give way. 

Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 

Like to an entered tide they all rush by, 

And leave you hindmost” 

Reuben, to whom the works of the great dramatist were yet 
an unworked mine, was delighted with the aptness of this quota- 
tion, and borrowed the book from Primrose to make .himself 
master of the entire of the play containing it. Hyacinth was 
enthusiastic on the subject of Shakspeare, and had a rhapsody in 
his praise at his fingers’ ends ; how. he was an encyc.opsedia of 


66 


THE UNIVEb SAL GENIUS ] 


poetry, an armoury of philosophy, a library of knowledge, a maga- 
zine of thought, a body ‘of divinity. Reuben soon fell into the 
same transports. Primrose and he were proofs that a man may 
be mad about wisdom without 'being wise, just as he may be wild 
about poetry and wit, without being either a wit or a poet. 

As an invalid, when he dismisses one doctor, usually sends for 
another, or as a sultan, having bow-stringed his vizier, promotes 
some one else to the post, so did Reuben Medlicott, after the loss 
of Winning, finding a bosom friend and bookmate indispensable, 
select the light-hearted and literary Hyacinth Primrose, to fill 
those important offices about his person ; an unfortunate choice, 
but a very excusable one, as Primrose was one of the most intel- 
lectual boys in the school, — in fact, the only boy of abilities and 
tastes akin to Reuben’s, after Winning had left Finchley. 

The volatility of the new minister was of a livelier description 
than Reuben’s, who at this period of his life was rather a pense- 
roso , and except when he was in his loquacious mood, enjoyed 
the mirth of his companions in a sort of passive melancholy way, 
that was partly his temperament, but not altogether, perhaps, free 
from affectation. Primrose was always gay, always riant ; full 
of pleasantry sometimes malicious, generally good-natured ; he 
saw every object in a rose-coloured light; and was determined to 
prosecute literature to please himself, while he studied the law to 
please his relations. 

“ I’ll read law,” he said. “ I’ll make myself a lawyer, a 
black-letter lawyer; I don’t at all despair of being a judge; but 
I don’t pretend that I have any love for the profession. However, 
a profession is necessary, and a profession 1 must have. I’ll make 
my bread by the bar and my character by the pen. That’s my 
plan, Medlicott ; is it not a good oiie ?” 

“ Remember Winning’s maxim,” Reuben would say gravely ; 
u remember the wise aphorism of Hippocrates.” 

“ But, Medlicott, I have been reading about Hippocrates lately, 
and I find he was not a mere physician, but a brilliant and almost 
universal genius. I shall probably write his life one of these 


OR, THE COMING MAH. 


67 


CHAPTER VL 

CHIEFLY OCCUPIED WITH TTTE TLL BEHAVIOUR OF AN ( LD GENTLEMAN 
AND THE DISCOMFORT IT OCCASIONED A YOUN fr ONE. 

The school at Hereford had been selected for Reuben partly on 
account of the benefice which his grandfather had in the neigh- 
bourhood ; but of so little use to him was the circumstance, that 
he had now been nearly three years at Finchley without seeing his 
venerable relative scarcely the same number of times. Dean 
Wyndham appeared there occasionally, just as he did at Chiches- 
ter and other places, arriving unexpectedly and departing abruptly, 
as comets were wont to do before the astronomers got their mo- 
tions under proper control. When the Dean did show himself 
in this part of his orbit, he did not altogether neglect his grand- 
child, but his attentions were little more than a chuck under the 
chin at one visit, and a question in prosody or Roman antiquities 
at another. About the pertod of Winning’s departure, however, 
the old gentleman was beginning to be seen at Hereford more 
frequently ; the new squares and terraces were making rapid pro- 
gress ; and a report now began to prevail (greatly to the annoy- 
ance of the Dean’s relatives) that he was not indisposed to marry 
for the third time, if he could induce one of the Barsac girls (the 
eldest, of course) to assist him in so extraordinary and promising 
an undertaking. Nobody gave this rumour so little credit as 
Reuben ; at the same time, he could not but observe that his 
grandfather was daily becoming more intimate and absolute in the 
Barsac family. He dictated their dinners, regulated their hours, 
selected their society, discountenanced their pleasant evening par- 
ties ; in fact, he appeared to be turning their once agreeable house 
topsy-turvy. Reuben’s special grievance was, of course, that he 
was no longer invited there himself as often as before. It was 
mostly by hearsay he was aware of the unexampled tyranny 
exercised by his despotic ancestor over the household of a free- 
born British merchant. He saw, however, quite enough to make 
all accounts that reached him only too worthy of credit. On 
several occasions, for instance, he observed the Baisacs going 
about shopping, or walking of an evening, with the Dean ; nor 
was it to Mrs. Barsac that the preposterous old dignitary seemed 
to be paying his attentions : he preferred the daughters to the 
mother, and generally had one upon each arm, though once or 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS I 


twice it happened that but one of the girls was of the party, and 
this hard lot fell upon Blanche. Reuben marvelled that he had 
never heard her complain of being forced to perambulate the 
streets and precincts of Hereford, with so extraordinary an escort ; 
but when he recollected in what a near relation the Dean stood 
to himself, he admired the delicacy that dictated her reserve. 

The only wonder, indeed, was that the design of the Dean 
upon one of the three sherries had not been suspected sooner, 
— he lived so much and so openly with the Barsacs, and was so 
notoriously connected in large speculations with the father of the 
family. It soon became current enough. The gossips of Here- 
ford had not had so rich a subject of discussion for a great many 
years. It set a great many heads shaking, tongues wagging, 
and eyes winking ; caused infinite nodding, whispering, tittering, 
giggling ; and if it did not occasion much vfit, it had certainly a 
decided tendency to promote the consumption of tea. The boys 
of Finchley shared in the general excitement ; and Reuben was 
exposed to so much annoyance on the subject, particularly among 
his school-fellows, that he'was beginning to think his grandfather 
was destined to be the plague of his life, instead of being a com- 
fort and a blessing to him, as a respectable grandfather ought surely 
to be. 

The rumour of the Dean’s matrimonial views was treated at 
the Vicarage as utterly unworthy of attention ; but Mrs. Medli- 
cott was serioudy displeased when . she found that Mrs. Barsac 
was beginning to be so neglectful of Reuben’s education for a 
man of the world. The Vicar, on the contrary, was gratified ; 
for he thought the cricket-ground became boys better than the 
ball-room, and hoped Reuben would relax himself with a little 
regular study, now that he had a good spell of vacation from 
balls and parties. And indeed his son was not idle at this period, 
although the business of the school was by no means sufficient 
to occupy the time he now had on his hands. He stood in the 
same rank in point of scholarship with Hyacinth Primrose ; they 
topped the school in the classics without the least drudgery, and 
had ample leisure for a course of the English poets, into whose 
distinguished society Primrose introduced Reuben, who found in 
their charming circle some little consolation for the exile to which 
he was doomed from the sweet bright eyes of Blanche. De Tab- 
ley, although his strongest tastes were for the table, discovered 
some taste for poetry also ; and, having ceased to sneer at Reu- 
ben’s accomplishments, he was occasionally the companion of him 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


69 


and Primrose in their rambles dn the banks of the Wye, when 
they repeated their favourite passages alternately, and discussed, 
with the rash criticism of boys, the beauties and the blemishes of 
the poets. Now and then, in these literary walks, De TabJey’s 
ruling passion would come out amusingly in connection with 
Some sublime or sentimental quotation." One day that some 
doves were heard plaining in a grove of trees hard by, Reuben 
repeated the hackneyed lines of Shenstone — 

“ I have found out a gift for my fair, 

I have found where the wood-pigeons breed.” 

De Tabley, after a few minutes’ silence, diverted his friends ex- 
ceedingly by gravely observing that he did not much fancy 
pigeons, except in a pie. It was a standingjoke against him with 
Primrose all his life. 

The tender verses of Shenstone, and amorous and elegiac verse 
generally, pleased Reuben most in these early days. He had 
Prior’s “ Henry and Emma,” no short poem of this class, evei / 
line by heart, and probably often wished the heroine had b^ui a 
blonde like Blanche, instead of a brunette like her sister. 

But the time came when Primrose followed Winn’ ig ^o _ol 
lege. De Tabley left school about the same time. Reuben was 
virtually left alone, for his only remaining friend was Vigors : but 
Vigors had no more poetry in him than a Master in Chancery: 
his heart and soul were in gymnastic exercises ; he was a good 
fellow and a good boxer, but no companion for an intellectual and 
sentimental youth like Medlicott. This was a dreary, melancholy 
time. The golden days of our youth have many a leaden hour. 
Reuben, in fact, ought to have been removed from Hereford along 
with his friends whom he had kept pace with in his studies. 
The Barsacs were not designedly inattentive to him, but they had 
not recovered their hospitable habits. Even when the Dean was 
absent they lived in the quietest way. Barsac himself was said 
to be in London much of his time, and his wife and daughters 
were frequently from home whole weeks together on excursions 
or visits. Our poor Reuben had but two resources — the library 
of the Cathedral, where he moped a great deal among the cld 
books, and his flageolet, which he continued to practise with the 
French shoemaker occasionally. 

Suddenly, however, he was deprived of this resource also, 
though fortune soon made him handsome amends. 

Dropping into Adolphe’s little shop one evening, he observed 


70 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


a pink satin shoe lying on the counter, and taking it uj he com- 
plimented the maker on its shape and workmanship. 

“ Ah !” cried Adolphe, “ that is beautiful ; but do n( t admire 
the shoe, although it is my chef d 1 oeuvre — that is nothing ; ad- 
mire the foot, it is the foot that is beautiful : it is the foot of a 
lady of your connaissance , Mademoiselle Blanche Barsac ” 

Reuben acknowledged that he knew her, with a degree of con- 
fusion and a quantity of carmine that would have disclosed the 
foolish state of his mind, had Adolphe been the obtusest of hu- 
man beings. 

u Ah ! oui ; you know the foot itself. I am a judge of teet ; 
it is my profession ; there is no foot so beautiful as hers in this 
town ; it is perfection. I have a theory on feet, Monsieur Reuben : 
when the foot is pretty all is pretty. I reason from the foot up, 
up, up to the crown of the head : it is my philosophy of feet ; I 
have studied, I have approfondi this subject. In the foot there 
is character, esprit, talent, heart, soul, genius, everything. When 
it walks, it is eloquence ; when it dances it is poetry ; when it 
stamps it is power. What do you think of my theory ? Ah, that 
foot is the foot of an angel !” 

A few days elapsed. Reuben heard a rumour in the school 
that, notwithstanding the custom it afforded Adolphe, he was 
not very flourishing in his trade, or likely long to find Hereford 
an eligible place for carrying it on. With a generous instinct 
Reuben flew to him directly this report reached his ears, resolv- 
ing to raise money to assist him, either by the sale of his super- 
fluous books, or the mortgage of his flageolet, for other sources 
of wealth were not very abundant with him. But it was too 
late ; the little shop was shut up. Reuben knocked repeatedly, 
but there was no reply save the hollow echo of the sound he 
made with his knuckles, and when he applied at the cutler’s, 
next door, for an explanation of these facts, he heard quite 
enough to satisfy anybody, whose mind had not been completely 
prepossessed with admiration and sympathy, that the French 
shoemaker had not been particularly attentive to his landlord’s 
interests before he made up his mind to abandon Hereford. 

Reuben went his way melancholy, his thoughts full of the 
poetry of bankruptcy; and, connecting the misfortunes of Adolphe 
with his talents and accomplishments — his genius shewn even in 
his humble trade, his philosophy of feet asd his sister Louise — he 
formed a most romantic picture in his mind of the st toggles and 
calamities of an ambitious French shoemaker. 


OK, THE COMING- MAN. 


71 


Tlie next day was a holiday ; I think it was the martyrdom 
of Charles the First. While the rest of the scholars amused 
themselves with the soaring kite, the bounding ball, or the roll- 
ing marbles, Reuben recreated himself with his pen, collecting all 
the cases and anecdotes he could find of laureate shoemakers and 
cobblers of immortal genius, such as Bunyan, Gifford, Flans Sachs, 
“the cobler-bard” of Nuremberg, and others, ending with a 
sketch of his friend Adolphe, whom his enthusiasm placed in the 
same memorable class. The poor artist’s mysterious fate gave a 
melancholy interest to this part of the essay, and- Reuben ended 
his speculations with suggesting suicide by charcoal, under most 
poetical circumstances, as the too probable close of his career. 

The simple truth was, that Adolphe had not prospered in his 
trade because he did not mind his business. He was too fond 
of talking, theorising, and playing the flageolet. The very shoes 
upon which he had built his philosophy of feet had been returned 
to him by Miss Barsac as a misfit. In point of probity, how- 
ever, he was not more unjust to his landlord than he had been 
to himself, for he absconded without taking the trouble of col- 
lecting a number of small sums that were due to him. Mrs. 
Barsac, among others, owed him some money, and, thinking that 
Reuben might be able to inform her what had become of him, 
she wrote him a note requesting to see him one morning. 

Wings could scarcely have borne him swifter than he flew in 
obedience to this summons. The nature of Mrs. Barsac’s busi- 
ness with him was a sad disappointment, but that was forgotten 
before he left the house. Mrs. Barsac was particularly gracious, 
told him that his grandfather was to preach in the Cathedral the 
following Sunday, and offered him a seat in her pew, if he de- 
sired to hear him. 


CHAPTER VII. 

REUBEN SPENDS A MEMORABLE SUNDAY WITH HIS GRANDFATHER, 
AND ALL THE BARSACS. 

The Barsacs, who were what is commonly called a-fine family, 
never looked so fine as when they were assembled together in 
their spacious and prominent pew on a Sunday morning. The 
spectators had then an opportunity of seeing several junior mem- 


72 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS^ 




bers of the firm, whom he did not commonly see at their parties, 
except when a juvenile hall was given, or round about a Christ- 
mas tree, dropping bon-bons. Though their pew was the larg- 
est in the church, it was not more roomy than they required, 
particularly as the ladies occupied much more space with their 
spreading silks and muslins than their mere persons required. As 
to Mrs. Barsac and her eldest daughter, they took up room enough 
for four reasonable women. Perhaps it was to do due honour 
to Dean Wyndham’s discourse that they were attired with more 
than usual splendour upon the present occasion, but certainly poor 
slender Reuben, whose lot it was to get wedged in between them, 
almost disappeared between the gorgeous shawls, floating veils, and 
pompous petticoats, that hemmed him in upon either side. Mrs. 
Barsac vouchsafed him some attention, an l extended h^r superb 
prayer-book now and then to accommodate him, bu‘ er daughter 
seemed unconscious of his proximity, arranging b r iress when she 
* sat down, without the slightest reference to his existence, and when 
she stood up, eclipsing him altogether. Opposite to him sat the 
fair Blanche and her brown sister, divided by their purse-proud 
and pompous father, dressed in a light blue frock, /vith a forest of 
geraniums in his button-hole. It was a goodly sight to see Bar- 
sac at his devotions ; he performed them in such an exemplary, 
determined, imposing manner; so loud in his share of the re- 
sponses, that the services of a clerk might have been dispensed 
with in whatever parish he resided, and ostentatiously observant 
of every little ceremony and genuflexion which usage or the 
rubric required. The grandest thing of all was bis Low at a cer- 
tain passage in the creed. Mr. Barsac always prepared himself 
for this solemn act by a previous arrangement of his countenance 
and disposition of his person ; he drew himself up to his full 
height, threw back the breast of his coat with the enormous 
bouquet, and bowed in the manner of a man who seemed to 
feel that he was conferring an honour upon the Christian 
religion, rather than humbly expressing his reverence for its 
truths. 

But even Barsac sank into insignificance, when the principal 
actor of the day, the mighty Dean, marched from his stall to the 
pulpit, preceded by the officious verger, perspiring under the 
weight of a huge silver mace. If Dr. Wyndham was a giant in 
his ordinary clothes, you may fancy what a man-mountain ho 
was in his canonical raiment. It needed no great effort of fancy 
to conceive that there was not only a dean but a whole chapter 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 73 

beneath a surplice which might certainly have made a set of 
shirts for the entire corporation, down to the minor canons. 

This huge body of divinity had no sooner mounted the pulpit 
than Mrs. Barsac requested Reuben to change places with 
Blanche, in order that she might have a better view of the 
preacher. Barsac made a like exchange with two of his younger 
children, and similar movements took place all over the cathe- 
dral, proving the great interest excited by the expectation of a 
sermon from a theologian of such renown. Reuben would have 
willingly made a much greater sacrifice for the gratification or 
convenience of Blanche, but, in fact, although it would have 
pleased him to see as well as hear his grandfather preaching, he 
was glad to emerge from the ladies’ dresses, and by the new ar- 
rangement he had Blanche opposite to him still, which was a 
very fair compensation for the face of old Dr. Wyndham. A pin 
might have been heard to drop as the Dean in his loud, dry, 
grating voice gave out his text, and commenced his discourse, 
which was, in fact, a pamphlet more than a sermon, consisting 
of an undoubtedly eloquent, but unnecessarily violent, denuncia- 
tion of the doctrine of political expediency, the fiercest anathemas 
against the statesmen of the day, who were supposed to be gov- 
erned by it, and tremendous warnings to the nation to beware 
of permitting the corner-stone of its Protestant constitution to be 
removed a single inch from its place, out of any false complai- 
sance to Romish errors or sophistical ideas of toleration. The 
only change the Dean’s harsh, monotonous voice underwent, was 
when he came to utter these awful comminations, when it fell 
into a kind of hoarse growl, like that of a bear apprehensive of a 
design against her cubs, or a mastiff prepared to defend his bone. 
Many parts of the sermon were ably and acutely reasoned, sup- 
porting the Dean’s reputation thoroughly ; but the contrast of 
argument, sometimes as fine as Mechlin lace, with language often 
as coarse as Norwich drugget, was exceedingly curious and occa- 
sionally almost diverting. In fact he kept his audience altern- 
ately admiring the force of his positions, and scandalised by the 
scurrility of his language ; they would, indeed, have been divided 
in their judgments of the discourse upon the wnole, had he not 
wound it all up with a peroration upon the value and dignity 
of principle, as opposed to expediency, so beautiful, as well as 
vehement, that all the previous blemishes of his composition were 
forgotten, and he dismissed his hearers, not only with the high- 
est possible opinion of his ability in the pulpit, but with a pro* 
4 


74 


T IE UNIVERSAL GENIUS | 


found and consolatory conviction that there was at least one man 
in the Church whom no temptation of wealth or rank could se- 
duce from the path of duty. The Barsacs were variously affected 
throughout the sermon, or 'rather expressed in a variety of ways 
the feelings with which it impressed them. Mrs. Barsac inti- 
mated by numerous little gestures, intended to be critical, some- 
times to her husband, sometimes to one or other of her daugh- 
ters, that she had never in her life heard a discourse that so en- 
tranced her. Barsac kept nodding at the preacher at the close 
of every passage, to testify his approbation of every syllable. 
Miss Barsac looked particularly cross, which was perhaps a mood 
rather in unison with the general tone of the Dean’s observations. 
The brunette paid the usual respectful attention, but nothing 
more; in fact she was not much of a theologian, and nothing of 
a politician at all ; very few brunettes are, and not many blondes 
either^ Blanche seemed to be an exception, for she kept her 
deep, quiet, devout eyes rivetted on the pulpit from first to last, 
never suffering them to wander to any object nearer the earth, 
not even once upon Reuben, who sat directly over against her, 
marvelling at her intense interest in subjects which had but little 
interest for himself, and of which he had indeed at that period 
but very imperfect and confused notions. 

After the service, as they stood in a group at one of the doors, 
waiting for the Dean, who had some ecclesiastical business to 
transact and to disencumber himself of his robes, when every- 
body had said everything that was to be said in admiration of 
the sermon, Mr. Barsac said something aside to Mrs. Barsac, who 
immediately addressed Reubeji, and made him as happy as a 
king by inviting him to their family dinner. 

They still waited for the Dean ; not impatiently, however, 
for he was a man whom the Barsacs considered it an honour to 
dance attendance on, which was fortunate, as he was not likely to 
hurry himself upon their account. There was no carriage wait- 
ing for them, for it was a rule with the Barsacs to walk to church 
when the weather was propitious. The distance was nothing, 
and they managed to go to church on foot with as much parade 
and ostentation, as if they had gone in a coach-and-six. 

At length the Dean joined them ; he instantly seized Mrs. 
Barsac’s arm, and commenced walking at his usual great pace, 
taking no more notice of Reuben than of the sparrows that were 
hopping in the streets. Barsac and his daughter Blanche fell 
into the second line, followed by the rest of the party in open 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


75 


order, Reuben not very well knowing to which division to attach 
himself, but keeping as near Blanche as he possibly could. Mrs. 
Barsac would have said twenty handsome things of the sermon, 
if the Dean had allowed her to speak at all, but he knew per- 
fectly well what she had got to say, so that his vanity was no 
loser; and having just as little doubt on his mind that Barsac 
was heaping on incense as fast he could behind his back, he gave 
himself just as little trouble to catch the precise words in which 
the consequential merchant was expressing his sentiments. 

“ It is commonly remarked,” said the Dean, after he had said 
more than enough in commendation of his own discourse, “ that 
an author is not the best judge of his own compositions ; I don’t 
know how it may be with other men, but the remark does not 
hold in my case. I was ne'ver yet wrong in my opinion of any 
work of my own. When I write a good book, or compose a 
good sermon, I know it ; when I write a bad thing, or a weak 
thing, I know it also. No critic can criticise me better than I can 
criticise myself. No living author has been the subject of such 
ridiculous criticism as I have. My best works have been abused 
by the reviewers, and, on the other hand, there are some of those 
fellows always ready to tell the public that any trash bearing my 
name is worthy of being written in cuneiform characters on 
pyramids.” 

“ I believe, sir,” said Barsac, “ you have written very little, if 
anything, that is not.” 

“ I have written trash in my time,” said the Dean, “ like 

other men ; not so much, perhaps, as , or , or my 

Lcrd Bishop of , but I have written trash in my time, as 

irrant trash as ever was printed.” 

“ What you call trash, Dean, would make the character and 
the fortune of any other man in the Church !” 

“ Perhaps you are not very wrong in that,” said the Dean ; 
M I know very w T ell there’s a difference between my trash and 
other men’s trash. What is your dinner hour V ? 

“Five, sir, on Sundays,” replied Mrs. Barsac, blandly and 
obsequiously, to this abrupt question. 

“ Why five ?” demanded the Dean. 

“ Dinner shall be at any hour you please, Dean,” cried Barsac, 
who was even more supple than his wife. “Would you prefer 
six, or shall we say seven ?” 

“As you have named five to your company, let it be five,” 
answered the Dean ; “ don’t consider me in your domestic ar- 


76 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


rangements. Never change your hour to please anybody. It’s 
unfair to your cook, and it’s unjust to your company.” 

“ I am sorry to say,” said Barsac nervously, “ we have no 
company to meet you to-day, sir, only our own family, with the 
exception of our young friend here, and, possibly, my brother- 
in-law, Mr. Brough.” 

“ Where was Brough to-day ? — where was your master ?” 
demanded the Dean, turning sharply round upon Reuben, whom 
he now honoured with his notice for the first time. Nothing 
was more usual with Dr. Wyndham than to put a question like 
this, and instantly change the conversation, without caring, or 
seeming to care, whether it was answered or not. While Reuben 
was endeavouring to explain or excuse the absence of his school- 
master, by stating that it was not the custom of the school to at- 
tend divine service at the cathedral, the Dean was proposing a 
visit to the buildings in which he and Mr. Barsac were concerned, 
by way of filling up the interval between luncheon and dinner. 
The walk was too much for Mrs. Barsac and her eldest daughter. 
The rest of the party, however, as- soon as luncheon was over, 
sallied forth again, and had not proceeded far before they were 
joined by the glossy Mr. Brough, who approached the Dean 
with something almost servile in his manner. The Dean, who 
had now taken Blanche under his arm, never looked at him, or, 
rather, he looked through him, as if he had been a ghost. This 
was to punish Mr. Brough for not having been at the cathedral 
to hear his sermon, and it evidently did punish him, for he was 
visibly abashed, and falling into the rear, began to converse in a 
very subdued tone with Barsac, who increased his brother-in-law’s 
confusion by telling him aloud all he had lost, and assuring him 
that the loss was totally irreparable, as it was out of all human 
probability that so splendid a specimen of pulpit eloquence would 
ever again be heard in England. 

Possibly the Dean did not hear this flourishing speech of the 
merchant, although it was intended that he should, for he was 
now mounted on one of his favourite hobbies, and talking at a 
prodigious rate of granite and limestone, the timber of different 
countries, and building materials of every kind. He seemed to 
Reuben to be boring Blanche excessively. They were now arrived 
at Wyndham Terrace, which was in a state of considerable for- 
wardness. The square, not yet named, was adjacent to it. The 
ground was laid out, the foundations of the houses laid, but only 
one house ]^ad been erected, and even that was little more than 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


77 


a skeleton of wood and brick. The ground all round about was 
strewed over with blocks of stone, piles of bricks, timber, iron 
railings, and a thousand other things of the same kind ; but none 
of these obstructions impeded the Dean’s progress ; he strode over 
and through them all, making Blanche follow, or rather pulling 
her along after him, without the least consideration either for her 
shoes or her ankles, the latter of which were really now and then 
in danger from the spikes of the railings, and the points of pick- 
axes. Reuben was very angry, but could do nothing to help her, 
though he showed by his looks amusingly enough how eager he 
was to do so. But Blanche herself was very good-humoured 
about it, and so was her sister the brunette, who was compelled 
to traverse every inch of the same rough ground in company with 
her father and uncle, whose complaisance to the Dean would have 
supported them through much more dirt and many more difficul- 
ties than they actually had to go through. Their trials, however, 
were only commenced, for as soon as Dr. Wyndham reached the 
house which was in a comparatively advanced state, he insisted 
on the merchant and the schoolmaster accompanying him through 
it from top to bottom, a journey which was one of not a little 
hazard, as a great deal of it had to be performed along rafters 
over which the flooring was not complete, and up and down in- 
clined planes formed of loose boards, which at present represent- 
ed the staircases. The Dean’s activity was surprising; none of 
the masons or carpenters could have done what he did with more 
self-possession, and he never ceased talking the whole time, alter- 
nately lecturing upon the principles of ventilation and sewerage, 
and ridiculing Barsac and Mr. Brough, who were scrambling re- 
luctantly after him, with imminent risk to their limbs at every 
step. When, at length, this perilous survey was over, it was di- 
verting to observe the annoyance of both at the state in which 
their clothes were with the mortar, dust, and whitewash ; Mr. 
Brough was in the worst pickle, for he was the awkwardest climb- 
er, and besides he was dressed, as usual, in a complete suit of the 
newest and glossiest black, looking as if he had been polished all 
over with Day and Martin. Reuben goodnaturedly assisted in 
1 restoring his preceptor to his original lustre, and Blanche per- 
formed the same little service for the Dean when he came forth, 
, but he had suffered much less than the others, because he had 
i been so much more agile. 

He now seated himself on a square block of Portland stone, 
and the rest followed his example, some sitting on other blocks, 


78 


THE UNIVERSAL GExVIUS J 

Mr. Brough on an inverted wheelbarrow, which he first carefully 
dusted with his handkerchief. 

“ This will he the finest square in England,” said the Dean, 
“ w T hen it is finished.” 

“ That it will, sir,” said Barsac. 

“ That it certainly will,” said Mr. Brough. 

“Of course I don’t include London,” said the Dean. 

“Of course not,” said Barsac and his brother-in-law to- 
gether. 

“Barsac,” said the Dean, “this square was my idea, not 
yours.” 

“ For which reason,” said the merchant, “ it must be called 
after you, sir.” 

“ No,” said the Dean ; “ and to prevent any more argument 
on that point, I now christen it Barsac Square, and we must con- 
sider how to adorn the centre of it. What is your opinion ?” 
This was addressed to Blanche, who sat on the next block to 
him. 

“ A fountain, sir, would be pretty,” she replied. 

“ Fountains are very well in some climates,” said the Dean, 
“ but the skies of ours afford us water enough without artificial 
supplies.” 

“A just and happy observation,” said the schoolmaster on 
the wheelbarrow, in a timid tone, but hoping to be heard by the 
object of his slavish veneration. 

“The square, sir, was your- idea,” said Barsac, “and therefore 
I don’t think any thing would be so appropriate, if I might ven- 
ture to offer a suggestion, as a statue of the Very Reverend Dean 
Wyndham.” 

“ Colossal,” added Mr. Brough as before. 

“Mr. Brough,” said the Dean abruptly, now that the school- 
master had forced himself on his notice, “ you were not at church 
to-day. That was wrong, Mr. Brough ; doubly wrong, for as an 
individual, you neglected the duty of attending divine service, 
and, as a preceptor, you set an example of the same neglect to 
your scholars ; you, of all men, are bound to be scrupulous in 
these matters; you are in loco parentis ; you should not only 
have been present yourself, but you should have come at the 
head of all your pupils and assistants. You must not be of- 
fended with me for speaking to you plainly on a subject so im- 
portant. I hope and trust you do not make a practice of turn- 
ing your back upon the Church.” 


79 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 

Mr. Brough was in the greatest state of excitement ch/ring 
this speech, wriggling on the wheelbarrow as if he was frying, 
and every moment jumping up and endeavouring, but all in 
vain, to get in a single word ; for a single word would have 
shown the Dean that his accusation was most unjust, and his 
lecture most uncalled-for. The Dean’s loud, fluent, and Qom- 
manding mode of speaking overbore all attempts at interruption, 
so that the pedagogue was exactly in the same predicament in 
which he had formerly put Reuben, by harranguing him on in- 
temperance at the ball, while the poor fellow was actually sup- 
perless. And when at last the Dean came to a pause, and Mr. 
Brough was allowed to defend himself, the former made him 
very slight amends for the wrong he had done him. 

“ I am very glad to hear it,” he said, in the driest way, as 
again he took Blanche under his mighty wing, and announced 
that it was time to return to dinner. 

At dinner Reuben sat next to Blanche, but his grandfather 
♦ sat on the other side, and, as usual, kept the conversation exclu- 
sively to himself. "When at the second course Mrs. Barsac re- 
commended some dish to Reuben, the Dean said she was cock- 
ering him too much ; when he was a boy he never had such 
delicacies. 

Mr. Barsac shortly after asked Reuben to take wine. 

u Wine too ! what does a schoolboy want with wine ?” 

“One glass of sherry, Dean, will do no harm. Pale or brown, 
Master Medlicott?” 

Reuben was crimson ; he fancied it was an indirect way Mr. 
Barsac took to discover which of his daughters he preferred. In 
his confusion, however, he made the wrong answer, and said 
brown, when he meant pale. This utterly discomforted him, 
and he sat silent and abashed the rest of the dinner. 

Barsac was carving a duck. The Dean told him he knew 
nothing of carving fowl ; that few people did but himself, and 
ordered a servant to bring the dish to him. He certainly carved 
better than Barsac, as far as it depended on strength ; but he 
lopped the wings and legs from the duck with so much energy, 
that he sprinkled Blanche’s dress all over with gravy. Blanche 
bore it with great equanimity, but Reuben was very much in- 
censed, and again had occasion to admire the delicacy with which 
she refrained from appearing annoyed by any part of his grand- 
father’s behaviour. 

When the ladies had retired, Reuben did not wait for one of 


80 


THE UNIVERSAL GENII SJ 


his grandfather’s hints, but followed them veiy soon. He was 
now compensated for his annoyances at dinner, and had more 
discourse with Blanche than he had ever yet had an opportunity 
of enjoying. Mrs. Barsac and her other daughters were present, 
but they were reading, and took little part in the conversation. 
After some time Blanche fixed her earnest eyes on Reuben, and 
smiling said she had a great favor to ask him ; but she hoped he 
would not hesitate to refuse her if she was going to trespass 
upon him too much. 

“ I know so well what Blanche is going to say,” said one ot 
her sisters aside to the other, looking up from her book. 

“ So do I,” said Mrs. Barsac, also aside. 

How Reuben was agitated at the thought of Blanche ^asking 
him to do her a favour ! What would he not do for those per- 
suasive eyes ? 

The favour was this, — to sit for his picture. Blanche, as we 
have already mentioned, was an amateur portrait painter ; she 
took pretty good likenesses in water-colors, and when a face 
particularly pleased her, she felt an irresistible inclination to 
reproduce its features with her pencil. 

“ Now you must be very candid with me,” she repeated, look- 
ing intently into the face of the handsome bashful boy, studying 
its lines and favours with the license of an artist, to whom beauty 
is only a theory. 

“ Blanche,” said Mrs. Barsac, beckoning to her daughter. 

Blanche went to her mother. 

“ Are you sure, my dear, the Dean will be pleased ? I very 
much question it.” 

Reuben only imperfectly caught what was said. Blanche re- 
turned to him with a thoughtful expression, and, after sitting si- 
lent for a moment, with the tip of her finger to her lips, she sud- 
denly brightened again, and said, with the air of a woman set- 
tling a point which she has authority to settle — 

“ The Dean shall know nothing at all about it.” 

“It is very kind of Mr. Medlicott to sit for you,” said Mrs. 
Barsac; “I hope he has not promised out of mere politeness.” 

Blanche had no doubt that Reuben was dealing sincerely 
with her ; rpid as to Reuben himself, his protestations to the 
same effect were amusingly eager. In fact he was delirious with 
joy, which nothing happened to interrupt for the remainder of 
the evening. 


OR, THE C0M1N T G MAN. 


81 


CHAPTER VIII. 

REUBEN BITS TO A FAIR ARTIST FOR HIS PICTURE. — WHO INTER- 
RUPTED THE SITTINGS. 

The first sitting took place the very next day. There cannot be 
a more delicate or perilous situation, — one trembles to think of 
it. Boyhood sitting to Beauty for his picture ! The proximity, 
the artistic licence we spoke of just now, the opportunities of con- 
versing both with the lips and the eyes, the necessity the fair 
painter is under of continually settling and resettling her patient’s 
attitude and position, often the tie of his handkerchief, the fall 
of his collar, or the arrangement of his hair ; all these, and 
twenty more little circumstances and incidents of amateur portrait- 
painting, have a manifest tendency to promote that relative state 
of the sentiments and feelings, which possibly may yet be brought 
under the dominion of science, and proved to be nothing more 
than an invisible play of some species of galvanic fluid, between 
a pair of hearts under certain conditions of Paphian electricity. 

Of the two, however, Blanche was the most practical and 
business-like upon an occasion when the temptations to be senti- 
mental are so very numerous. Nothing could be cooler or more 
professional than the liberties she took with Reuben to place him 
in the proper light, to dispose his draperies for picturesque effect, 
and establish that sort of animated repose and speaking silence 
in his features, which she hoped to succeed in transferring to the 
carton before her. The subject himself was all in a tumult dur- 
ing the preliminaries, which the artist arranged without the slight- 
est flutter of the pulse or loss of self-possession. Reuben often 
wondered afterwards how Blanche Barsac made such a good like- 
ness of him as she managed to do in a few sittings ; so difficult 
a task it must have been to catch the lines of a face, the owner 
of which was all the time in a state of such nervous excitement, 
and whose colour was for ever coming and going, with a decided 
tendency, however, to settle into a perpetual blush. 

Conversation is of enormous service on such occasions. Blanche 
never talked so much as when she was painting, and she forced 
Reuben to talk too, asking him a thousand questions about his 
mother, his friends, his studies, his plans, and many a thing be- 
sides. They had been so long without seeing him ; where had 
he been? Was it his fault, or was it theirs? When had he 
4 * 


82 


THE UNIVERSAL &ENIUS j 

heard from Mr. Winning and his friend with the pretty name, 
Mr. Hyacinth Primrose, who was always so lively and entertain- 
ing ? She knew he had been studying very hard, he was so 
pale. Had he any time for drawing ? Had he taken any more 
views of the cathedral ? And she hoped he had not given up 
the pleasant magazine of which she had seen one or two speci-, 
mens. Had he been writing at all lately ? He was not long in 
confessing his latest production, tho essay on shoemakers of ge- 
nius, and modestly yielded to the strong wish she expressed to 
read it, though stipulating that nobody should see it but her- 
self. 

Then she went on painting in silence for a few minutes, ex- 
amining the lines of his countenance between the touches, as if 
it was but the statue of a boy that sat before her ; then suddenly 
she paused, and feared she was detaining him too long, but she 
would soon release him. 

He had no wish to be released ; but Blanche had probably 
other engagements, for she now looked at her watch, rose has- 
tily, wondered what had become of her sisters, and fixing a day 
for the next sitting, terminated the present one almost abruptly. 

Reuben was extremely dissatisfied with himself for his beha- 
viour upon this occasion. He had been so sheepish, so stupid, 
while Blanche had been so agreeable, so encouraging, so every 
way charming. He determined to act a more manly and gallant 
part the next time. 

But the next sitting was not a iete-a-tete like the former. 
The sisters were provokingly present. Blanche was in her walk- 
ing-dress, all but her parasol and gloves, which lay on a sofa be- 
side her. Nothing could be more uncomfortable; and at last in 
bustled Mrs. Barsac herself, richly shawled and bonneted, nodded 
to Reuben, glanced at the picture, and swept away Blanche along 
with her so rapidly, as scarcely to give her time to put up her 
brushes and appoint a time for the third seance. He had brought 
his essay with him, but had no .opportunity of placing it in her 
hands unobserved by the other members of the family. 

The third sitting was pleasanter than the second, though not 
so private as the first. He presented her with his MS. She was 
now painting his hair. 

“I wish,” she exclaimed, “it were not cropped so very close, 
it is so beautiful ; it would look so well suffered to fall down 
upon your shoulders like mine and as she spoke she touched 
her own hair, which was light bvown and very bright and abun- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


83 


dant. The compliment and the comparison together damasked 
Reuben’s cheek very deeply indeed. With the slightest conceiv- 
able smile upon her lip, Blanche withdrew her eyes from him 
and fixed them again upon her work. After a few touches, she 
spoke again. 

“Did you never wear it long ?” 

Reuben now made an effort to tell her the tale of the outrage 
which his grandfather had perpetrated with the scissors the day 
before he went to school. Blanche was evidently diverted, though 
she said she could perfectly understand how provoked his mother 
must have been. He must have looked a positive fright. 

This extracted the sequel of the tale, all about Mademoiselle 
Louise, which Reuben told in so confused a way, and with so 
much stammering and blushing, that Blanche could not help 
raising her finger, shaking her head, looking mysterious, and then 
apologising for having betrayed him into making her the confi- 
dante of what was evidently a sentimental business. 

He was seriously parrying this attack, when a maid entered 
the room and put a little slip of paper into Blanche’s hand, which 
seemed to have an electrical effect upon her. She jumped up, 
hastily covered the unfinished portrait, and was running out of 
her studio, without fixing a day for Reuben to sit again, but he 
followed, and, overtaking her at the door of the drawing-room, 
with throbbing nerves reminded her of what she had probably 
only forgotten in her hurry. She was forced to stop, and was 
rapidly running over on her fingers her engagements for the few 
following days, when the door opened behind them, and forth 
came Mrs. Barsac, her eldest daughter, and his grandfather. 

The Dean blew a terrific gale when he saw Reuben, although 
he had not a notion that he was there for any purpose but to pay 
an idle morning visit. That, however, was enough to raise the 
tempest, with the ideas he had of schools and schoolboys. He 
scolded Reuben, scolded Mr. Brough, and so abused Mrs. Barsac 
that she became quite disconcerted, and in her perplexity made 
matters worse by assuring the Dean that his grandson was not 
so much to blame as he seemed to be, and that she would explain 
every thing presently. On hearing this, the Dean blustered 
again, puffed his cheeks like AEolus, and after frowning like night 
upon every body in succession, but most upon Reuben, returned 
with Mrs. Barsac into the drawing-room. The three girls re- 
mained for a moment outside, the two eldest whispering and 
laughing together in a subdued tone, while Blanche, sincerely 


84 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 


pitying Reuben’s humiliation, shook his hand with the utmost 
good-nature, and even accompanied him part of the way to the 
hall-door. 

The Dean’s anger on trifling occasions like this was a very 
u short madness” indeed. Even when he heard from Mrs. Barsac 
how Reuben had been sitting for his picture to Blanche, he 
merely called them all a pack of fools two or three times over, 
desired to have no more such nonsense, and appeared to have 
forgotten all about it before dinner. 

But Reuben did not so soon recover his composure. He had 
a more serious cause for anxiety than the humiliation he had 
met with from his choleric and eccentric relative. He had placed 
more that day in the hands of Blanche than one of his literary 
efforts — he had slipped into the folds of the MS. a full confession 
of the resistless power of her charms with a frank and honorable 
declaration of love. 

He was not long without a reply, under her own hand and 

seal. 

The lessons of the following day were disposed of, and Reu- 
ben was hurrying to regain his room, and bury himself in soli- 
tude, when he saw a servant of the Barsacs, and observed him 
inquiring for somebody or something. Reuben ran over to the 
man, who put a note and small paper parcel into his hand, 
touched his hat, and went away. In an instant Reuben was in 
his closet, and had already torn the parcel open. 

It was his MS., with a few lines from Blanche, to the effect 
that she had read it with the greatest pleasure, and thought it 
exceedingly clever and interesting. With respect to a detached 
paper which she had found enclosed, she had read that also, but 
not with the same satisfaction ; she begged him to excuse her for 
observing that it did not appear to her to be as well considered 
as his other essay. ^ 

The other note was ffcm Mrs. Barsac, suggesting the expe- 
diency of discontinuing the sittings to her daughter, at least for 
the present ; indeed, she was happy to acquaint him that Blanche 
was in hopes of qyen finishing it without giving him any further 
trouble, and was very thankful to him for the sittings with 
which he had favoured her. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


85 


CHAPTER IX. 

AN* AFFLICTING DISCOVERY, WHICH OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN MADE 
SOONER. 

Reuben was not long in ignorance of the overwhelming truth 
which the sagacious reader has probably already divined. School- 
boys are great proficients in the art of ingeniously tormenting 
The very next day, while the smart was fresh of the wounds re- 
ceived in the last chapter, Reuben overheard the following dia- 
logue, which had in all probability been concerted expressly to 
be overheard by him. 

“ Think of dry sherry,” said one, “ being Medlicott’s grand- 
mamma ! She will keep, him in precious order, won’t she ?” 

“ That she will, and no mistake,” replied another. 

“ I hear it’s not dry sherry at all ; it’s brown,” said a third. 

“ Pale, I say.” 

u So do I. The pale one, for a bottle of pop ” 

“ Done,” said the backer of one of the other ladies. 

“ Why, it’s pale sherry he is in love with ; to be in love with 
his grandmother would be capital fun.” 

This was the first hint. Confirmation followed quickly 
enough, and in only too great an abundance. 

Reuben often laughed, in his maturer years, at the follies and 
miseries of this period of his life. It seemed to him, as it has 
done to most men, hardly credible tlfht his puerile infatuation 
should have carried him to such preposterous lengths, anti still 
harder to understand how he could have made himself so 
wretched as he did by his incomparable absurdities. 

The notion of that grim old grandfather marrying the fair 
young Blanche, with those sweet, calm, bevdtching eyes, almost 
overset his reason. The principal fad|hva?^> horrible, that he 
took little or no interest in the subordinate events connected with 
it. The marriage, although decided on, was not to take place 
for some time ; there were delays gyd difficulties as usual in hy- 
meneal transactions, and rumour ascribed them R> various causes, 
among others to the true one, the embarrassed' state of the Dean’s 
private circumstances, notwithstanding his rich preferments in the 
Church. Blanche Barsac went on a visit at this time to friends 
in London, and Reuben knew nothing of it for several weeks, 
during which interval his correspondence with his parents, and 


86 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


the letters he received from his Aunt Mountjoy, and his friends 
Winning and Primrose, helped to familiarise his mind, in some 
measure, with the subject that was most painful to reflect on, and 
gradually to extract the sting of his anguish. Primrose wrote 
him a very pleasant letter, in which he paralleled the Dean and 
his bride with Tithonus and Aurora, and discussed in a most 
amusing manner the singular passion which young women some- 
times conceive for men who might be their fathers. Neither 
Hyacinth nor Winning had the slightest notion of their friend 
Reuben’s competition with his grandfather for the lady’s affec- 
tions ; and as they had both met Blanche in town, it was per- 
fectly plain she had kept his secret with the most amiable fidelity. 

The truth, indeed, was that Blanche was very fond of Reuben, 
and had the sincerest regard for him, which she afterwards 
showed upon many an occasion, as the course of this history will 
prove. 

Meanwhile his schoolboy days were nearly numbered. He 
was actually now within three months of the period which had 
been fixed upon for his leaving Finchley, where he had learned as 
much as his preceptors professed to teach, and more a great deal 
than was necessary as preparation for either of the universities. 
The period of his departure, however, was precipitated by the 
good-nature of Mr. Brough, who, having noticed that Reuben 
was looking ill, mentioned it one morning to his grandfather, 
whom he chanced to meet, adding that change of air and relax- 
ation for a week or two would (with deference to the Dean’s 
better judgment) be of the* greatest service to him. 

“ You think so,” said the Dean, who was propitious at the 
moment, “ very well, let it be so, — Chichester is a great way off, 
but I’m going down to-night to see how the alterations are going 
on in my house at Westbury, and I’ll take him with me. He 
shall have a gun to shoot the rabbits, and Mrs. Reeves, my house- 
keeper, will make dludelj^n tea for him.” 

“No plan could be better,” said Mr. Brough. 

“ But you had better,” said the Dean, “ give him a book of 
Viijgil to get by heart; he can’t shoot rabbits all the day long.” 

“With greaf respect, sir,” said the complaisant but humane 
schoolmaster, “ Mrs. Reeves and the rabbits will do him more 
good just now than a book of Virgil.” 

“Perhaps you are right,” said the Dean, “and as the coach 
office is at hand, I’ll book the boy now and secure his place.” 

So Reuben was booked like a parcel, without having a voice 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 87 

in the matter, and he went down that night with the Dean to 
his place at Westbury. 


CHAPTER X. 

BEUBEN GETS AN INSIGHT INTO THE PRIVATE LIFE OF HIS GRAND- 
FATHER. 

While the following morning was yet grey, Reuben’s sleep was 
broken by an infinity of discordant sounds, produced by carpen- 
ters, bricklayers, glaziers, and chimney-doctors, dispersed over all 
parts of the house, and all in turn occasionally drowned by the 
harsh thundering voice of his grandfather, dictating to the sev- 
eral tradesmen, and informing them all in rotation, that they were 
scandalously ignorant of their business ; that he knew more of 
masonry himself than half the masons in England ; that painters 
ought to know something of mixing colours, but he never saw a 
painter who did ; that it was more noise than work with the 
carpenters; and as to the chimney-doctors, they were a pack of 
charlatans. Reuben, after rubbing his eyes, stole out of bed, and 
peeped over a balustrade close to the door of his bed-room, from 
whence he obtained a view of the Dean in a loose old trailing 
dressing-gown, alternately lecturing and abusing the mechanics, 
some of whom were quietly going on with their work without 
taking much notice of their eccentric employer, while others were 
suspending their hammers, their brushes, or their diamonds, and 
receiving his observations with affected gratitude and respect. 
Reuben stole back again to his bed, for it was still early ; but 
he had scarcely laid his head on his pillow, when his door was 
thrown open with a clatter, and in stalked the Dean, followed by 
a couple of glaziers, to whom he was giving a torrent of instruc- 
tions, in compliance with the first of which the only window in 
the rootn was chucked in a trice out of the frame ; so that Reuben 
might as well have had to make his toilet alfresco. He dressed 
himself in presence of his grandfather and the glaziers, while the 
former commenced ransacking an old bookcase, the contents of 
which he had quite forgotten, mixing up running commentaries on 
the books as he tumbled them out, with odds and ends of advice to 
Reuben on the subject of rabbit-shooting and other similar sports. 


88 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


which naturally led him to his own exploits with the gun, some 
of them not much less amazing than the exploits of Baron Mun- 
chausen. Then he held forth on the various breeds of rabbits and 
their extraordinary fecundity, and told anecdotes of rabbits that 
made the mechanics grin, and even Reuben laugh, who had not 
laughed for weeks. He told them Bacon’s story of the simple 
schoolboy who was astounded when the rabbits scampered off 
on his shouting in Latin to his comrade, never dreaming that 
rabbits were acquainted with the dead languages; and how 
Hobbs, when he lived at Old Sarum, humorously concluded, 
that a burgess in the English language was synonymous with a 
cony, as the conies were the only constituency which even in his 
time that ancient borough had to boast of. The glaziers thought 
the Dean omniscient, particularly when he made some just re- 
marks on matters connected with their own trade. However, as 
he went down to breakfast he forfeited their good opinion to a 
certain extent; for, taking a hammer out of the hand of one of 
the carpenters’ apprentices, to show him howto drive a nail with 
precision, he missed his aim by a quarter of an inch, and gave 
himself a smart rap on the thumb. He pretended it was no- 
thing, but the apprentice knew very well what a sore thing it 
was, and quoted a familiar adage as soon as the old gentleman 
was out of hearing. 

The Dean only remained a day or two, passing the time be- 
tween odd discussions with his workmen, and researches in his 
library, chiefly among the fathers, to support some theological 
dogma or another which he was shortly about to propound to 
the world either in a sermon or a tract. Engaged in this latter 
occupation, he utterly forgot his engagement to Reuben to give 
him the gun, aud set him down to copy long passages from Eu- 
sebius and Bellarmine, which filled up the interval between a 
straggling breakfast and a dinner of the same character. The 
house being in such confusion, everything was done in the libra- 
ry, which was, of course, not much behind the other apartments 
in point of disorder. The books lay on the floor in heaps, for 
the shelves had been just painted, and the Dean sat at his break- 
fast amidst a chaos of classics and divinity, simultaneously eating 
and reading with equal voracity ; now and then striding to the 
door to shout directions to the painters, and bellowing to Mrs. 
Reeves for hot water to shave. He always used his library or 
study as his dressing-room, wherever he resided. In the present 
state of his house, his toilet was in perfect keeping with the gen- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


89 


eral disorder of the establishment. He shaved himself in a little 
shattered looking-glass, which he set upon the mantel-piece, not 
even waiting until he had quite finished his meal, but travelling 
backwards and forwards between the breakfast-table and the 
hearth-stone, uttering all manner of strange noises and internal 
rumblings, to the consternation of his gentle grandson, who had 
never seen or heard so much of the private life of his maternal 
ancestor before. 

Mingled, however, with the inarticulate sounds elicited partly 
by the difficulty of eating and shaving at the same time, partly 
by the embarrassment of seeing more chins than one in the mir- 
ror, came forth at intervals a multitude of sound, hard-headed 
maxims and receipts for success in life, intended for Reuben’s 
use, and probably more likely to remain impressed on his mem- 
ory, delivered as they were, than if they had been imparted with 
more dignity in any portico or academic shade. 

“ Aim at being a great man ; there is something great in even 
failing to become great. Encourage the passions that lead to 
greatness ; there are three of them ; love of business, love of rep- 
utation, and love of power. But if you would be a good man, 
which is better than being a great one, you must love two things, 
besides, you must love truth and you must love mankind. I put 
truth foremost ; God forbid I should give man the precedence ; 
nine men out of ten are scoundrels, not that we ought not to love 
scoundrels, or try to love them ; but it is a difficult thing to do, — 
the cutler who made this razor was* an arrant scoundrel.” The 
Dean had prepared Reuben for this last remark by a series of 
grunts with which he had interpolated the latter part of his 
speech. He gulped down some coffee, soaping the edge of the 
cup in doing so, and resumed in a new track of observation, while 
Reuben sat imbibing his counsels, and gazing almost with terror 
at he bloody harvest which the bad razor was reaping. 

“ Preserve due order among the objects of your respect and 
veneration. Place them in your mind as you do pounds, shil- 
lings, and pence in your arithmetic. Respect piety and virtue 
first ; genius and learning in the second place ; rank and author- 
ity in the third, when they are not disgraced in the persons of 
their possessors — they often are.” 

Here he finished his operations on one s'de of his face, and 
refreshed himself with some coffee and toast before he proceeded 
to the other moiety. 

“ Wealth, and what is called blood, have no claims upon your 


90 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


reverence at all. Birth is an accident. Wealth is odious when 
it is acquired by sordid methods, and when it is obtained by tal- 
ent and industry, the industry and talent command our homage, 
not the fortune obtained by them. Before good men be rev- 
erent ; before the wise be diffident ; before the great be discreet ; 
but never bow your knee, or bait your breath in the presence of 
the mere millionnaire , or the mere patrician.” 

He cut himself again, interpolated another attack on the cut- 
ler, and resumed — 

“I never did. My ‘learned pate’ — if there is any learning 
in it — never ‘ ducked to the golden fool,’ as Shakspeare has it. 
Hand me that towel.” 

Reuben obeyed, and in doing so took courage to say that he 
recollected another passage in Shakspeare, breathing the spirit of 
his grandfather’s observations. 

“ I held it ever, 

Virtue and wisdom were endowments greater 
Than nobleness and riches.” 

“ Well said and well remembered : who is the speaker ?” asked 
the Dean, looking down with grim approbation upon his youthful 
companion, as he wiped his razor, having concluded his sangui- 
nary work. 

“The Ephesian lord, sir, in the play of ‘Pericles,’” said 
Reuben, blushing at his little success. 

“ Shakspeare knew,” said* the Dean, “ that there are lords as 
well as commoners who understand in what true greatness con- 
sists, and who draw honour from its proper fountains. Men can- 
not help being lords ; they are neither to be respected for it, nor 
despised for it. Hand me that coat on the back of the chair 
yonder.” 

While Reuben was handing the coat, his grandfather was 
disembowelling the huge pockets of his dressing gown ; and un- 
questionably it was a strange miscellany that he produced from 
those receptacles ; letters, invitations, soiled handkerchiefs, odd 
gloves, keys, memorandums, notes of sermons, builders’ estimates, 
a heap of copper coins, with here and there a sixpence shining 
among them, a great many bills, and very few receipts. All 
these articles he now thrust into the pockets of the coat, in do ng 
which he dropped one of the notes and nodded to Reuben to 
pick it up. 

Our poor Reuben ! in picking up the note he glanced at the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


91 


writing, and recognised the hand of Blanche. Down it went, 
however, crushed among the other things, with no more ceremony 
or sentiment than if it had been a tavern reckoning. The heart 
of the susceptible boy felt crushed along with it, but, fortunately 
for him just at present, his grandfather’s society was perfectly in- 
compatible with the indulgence of tender thoughts. The Dean 
was no sooner dressed than he took Reuben with him to inspect 
the stables and offices, thence hurried him through the garden, 
over the farm, and round about the neighbourhood for a couple of 
hours, after which he returned to a lusty luncheon, had another 
altercation with the contractor, and sitting down to Eusebius 
himself, set Reuben to copy pages of Bellarmine until dinner. 

At dinner he was equally instructive, though perhaps more 
vainglorious. 

“ Keep doing, always doing, and whatever you do, do it with 
all your heart, soul, and strength. Wishing, dreaming, intend- 
ing, murmuring, talking, sighing, and repining, are all idle and 
profitless employments. The only manly occupation is to keep 
doing. I have been often told by wiseacres that building was a 
ruinous taste, but it is true of one kind of building, of castles in 
the air — a sort of castle that I never built. If I am a good ex- 
ample for anything, it is for energy ; I study with energy, I exer- 
cise with energy, I sleep and I eat with energy.” 

Reuben had the proof of the latter assertion before his eyes, 
in the rapid consumption of the beef and mustard which his 
grandsire was making, while he had scarcely disposed of the first 
slice he had been helped to. The Dean at length observed his 
descendant’s inefficiency with the knife and fork. 

“Dine like a man, sir,” he said, helping him a second time; 
“ I don’t approve of your dainty dastardly eaters ; I don’t like the 
man who does not like his dinner; that’s one of my maxims; 
he may be honest but I am not sure of it. When I don’t see a 
good appetite I am apt to suspect there is a bad digestion ; and 
I cannot help connecting that with something amiss in the moral 
organisation. We are compound beings; we are not all body, 
neither are we all mind. The stomach and the conscience have 
a close affinity, take my word for it.” The Dean paused, took a 
glass of port, pushed the water to Reuben, and hoped he was 
careful in the choice of his friends. 

“Have you many?” he inquired. 

“A good many, sir,” said Reuben. 

“ You are a fortunate fellow,” said his grandfather sneeringly ; 


92 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


“ Achilles had only Patroclus; Pylades only Orestes, and you 
have a troop it seems. Who are they ?” 

“ Henry Winning.” 

“ I have heard of him ; a promising young man.” 

“Hyacinth Primrose.” 

“ Anybody else ? — you have not come to the end of the list.” 

“Well, indeed, sir,” said Reuben, “I had no notion how few 
friends I had, until I counted them.” 

“ There is an important difference,” said the Dean, “ between 
friendships and intimacies. Intimacies are not friendships, but 
the tests of friendships. It is, unfortunately, only through inti- 
macies we can discover how unworthy men are of possessing our 
friendship. We think we are deceived by our friends, when we 
have only discovered that they never were true friends at all.” 

Two or three days passed in this manner, and then the Dean 
left Westbury as abruptly as he came there. One morning after 
breakfast, having curtly recommended Reuben to the care of Mrs. 
Reeves, he thrust all his papers and things (that his pockets did 
not hold) into a carpet bag, grasped it by the lug, as a constable 
might do a ; thief, and strode away with the steps of Homer’s 
Poseidon, to meet the coach for Hereford, which passed his gate 
at a certain well-known hour. Few ever deeply regretted the 
departure of Dean Wyndham. He usually left behind him the 
kind of feelings that people are conscious of when a storm has 
ceased which threatened to pull down their chimneys, and kept 
them aw r ake the livelong night. The workmen were decidedly 
the happier when he was gone. Old Mrs. Reeves always tried 
to persuade herself that she was distressed upon such occasions, 
but in truth she was more comfortable in her master’s absence, 
just because she was quieter ; she expressed the exact state of her 
mind when she said that she “missed him very much,” for we 
miss many a thing that we have no wish to have back again in a 
hurry — a truth well known to widows in particular. Reuben 
alone would have been better pleased if his grandfather had pro- 
tracted his stay. The Dean’s company had the singular effect of 
banishing from his thoughts the very subject which it might have 
been supposed it was particularly calculated to encourage. Reu- 
ben was carried away and interested in spite of himself, by a force 
and originality of character which, indeed, produced upon most 
people, a yery strong impression. He was won too by the sub- 
stantial kindness of the old gentleman’s behaviour. In short ho 
was more inclined upon the whole to gratitude than to resent- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


93 


he was probably too young to be furiously jealous; or 
perhaps it is not very easy or natural to be jealous of a man’s 
grandfather. 

In the way of rabbit shooting, our hero did as little as it was 
possible for him to do, for which there were several reasons, but 
the principal one was this, — his grandfather went away without 
giving him the gun he had promised him. This was a matter of 
less concern to the rabbits probably than it was to Reuben ; but 
even to him it was of no great consequence, for he never had 
much enjoyment in any out-of-door occupation in which he had 
no associates. Had he made war upon the rabbits, therefore, it 
would probably have been over in a single campaign, and it i s 
questionable if he would have killed a sufficient number of tho 
enemy to entitle himself to the honours of a triumph. Failing the 
sports of the field, the resources at his command were the library, 
the workmen, and the society of the housekeeper. He was rather 
successful with Mrs. Reeves, because it was easy to be so, if you 
allowed her to be kind and attentive to you in her own fashion, 
tasted her gooseberry jams, pretended to give her dandelion tea 
a trial, and allowed her to go in and out and fidget about you, 
without snarling, or looking thunder at her. But Mrs. Reeves 
was not an Egeria with whom you could live in a cave or a des- 
ert. The silent library was more fascinating to Reuben, so he 
established himself there, and after some hours’ deliberation com- 
menced making a catalogue, and he labored so incessantly at this 
undertaking for several days, scarcely affording himself time for 
food and exercise, that Mrs. Reeves concluded it was a task set 
him by his grandfather, and never approached his table without 
heaving audible sighs and uttering various little ejaculations of a 
! compassionate nature. At last he noticed these symptoms of 
mental uneasiness, and. it was easy to bring the old lady to an 
explanation. 

“ It was a pity, so it was, to see so young a gentleman tied to 
the desk from morning till night, when it would do him so much 
more good to be diverting himself in the fields, or even assisting 
the haymakers in making the hay; she had heard stories of 
students growing double from moping too long over their books, 
and though her master was so old a man, few young men of the 
present day could do what he could do.” 

“There is a great deal of sense in what you say,” said Reu- 
ben, “ and I’ll take your advice this instant. I have been work- 
ing unnecessarily hard, but from this dav forth, while [ remain 


94 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


here, I will be ruled by you and divide my time more equally 
between business and relaxation.” 

If you want to win an old woman’s heart, let her advise you, 
and either take her advice, or leave her under the impression that 
you will take it. The latter will do nearly as well. 

Reuben, however, actually followed Mrs. Reeves’s suggestions, 
so that he was soon in the highest favour. 

The works going on in the house now began to engage his 
attention, particularly when the weather was unfavourable for 
walking. It was not only amusing but instructive to watch the 
processes of the different mechanics, who -were employed in the 
extensivo alterations going forward. The first acquaintance h$ 
made was with the young carpenter, whom the Dean had taught 
to drive a nail at the cost of bruising one of his own. From this 
intelligent lad he picked up nearly as much of the trade as he 
could have done in the greater part of a seven years’ apprentice- 
ship. He gained the carpenter’s affections by playing the flageo- 
let, and he was repaid for his strains by being instructed in the 
use of the saw and the chisel. Indeed, the flageolet soon be- 
came a great source of enjoyment to all the workmen, without at 
all hindering their labours, and Reuben was often prevailed upon 
to station himself in a central position on the principal staircase, 
perched on the bannisters, or on one of the painter’s ladders, so 
that the music might be distributed as equally as possible over 
the whole house. The most popular airs were the cheerful ones, 
but there was one of the glaziers, a pallid pensive young man, 
who always begged for something sentimental, and Reuben after- 
wards found the name of Fanny in straggling letters upon a pane 
in his bed-chamber, which had most probably been scratched 
there with his diamond by the love-lorn artisan. 

One evening after he had done a good day’s work at the 
catalogue, while Mrs. Reeves was making his tea — not the dan- 
delion — the young carpenter came with an humble petition to 
Reuben . There was dancing going on in the farm-yard, but the 
lads and lasses had no music except the whistling of one of the 
ploughmen, and if Master Medlicott would come down with his 
flageolet, and play them a few tunes, he would make the assembly 
happy and grateful beyond all expression. Reuben was easily 
persuaded to do a good-natured thing, so he very cheerfully con- 
sented to improve the rustic orchestra. Mrs. Reeves was at first 
adverse, but she was soon brought round, and would even have 
gone to the ball herself, only for certain infirmities connected with 
her feet, which always indisposed her to walking. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


95 


The farm-yard presented a gay sight, and there never wss a 
happier throng assembled in any ball-room, than was assembled 
there that evening under a full moon, which with the rosy re- 
mains of daylight afforded the revellers as much illumination as 
they cared to have. The excitement was at its height when 
Reuben appeared with his instrument, and the homestead rang 
through all the sheds and offices with the praises of his good-na- 
ture, cleverness, and condescension. It is not very common to wit- 
ness so harmonious a union of husbandry and handicraft as was 
witnessed on the occasion of this impromptu festivity, for the 
masons, painters, plumbers, and other workmen employed in thf 
house, were mingled with the ploughboys, dairymaids, and hay 
makers ; the ball was opened by Reuben’s friend, the carpenter, 
and Dorothy, the gardener’s daughter, a full-blown rose of a girl, 
well able to dance down all the rest of the company, particularly 
the mechanical portion of it. Jenny, who held an office in the 
dairy, and was fair and mild as her own milk, danced with the 
chief of the masons ; Molly, the under hen-wife, was led off by a 
plumber ; Maria and Rebecca, two of the housemaids, consented 
to be the partners of a bell-hanger and a painter ; the rest paired 
off as they best could, and whether it was a reel, a jig, a country 
dance, or a fandango, there never tripped a merrier group on the 
best chalked floor in London, than our hero put into motion by 
the first breath of his flageolet, just as if it had been an electric 
machine with a system of wires attached to the heels of the dan- 
cers. Reuben climbed by a ladder to the flat summit of an un- 
finished hay-rick, and seating himself in that commanding posi- 
tion shed his toe-inspiring melody upon the animated crowd be- 
neath him. The love-lorn glazier, who would not dance because 
his Fanny was far away, was a pensive spectator of the scene 
from the topmost step of a wooden staircase which led to a gra- 
nary ; and various urchins about the farm, who were either too 
untaught, or too unclad, to be admitted into the circle (for there 
are exclusives even in the farm-yard), climbed into the boughs 
of a great tree, where, concealed from view by the foliage, they 
nevertheless managed to make their presence sufficiently known 
by the shouts and loud laughter with which they hailed all the 
little mischances and fatalities, liberties and necessities, incidental 
to rustic gaiety and moonlight mirth. 

In short, the jollity was of the most exuberant description ; nor, 
though the lance was not tipsy, was there wanting a supply of 
cider and brown ale from the neighbouring village to refresh the 


96 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


company, for the farm-people had elubbed half-a-crown to treat the 
tradesmen, and Reuben graciously contributed the same sum from 
the residue of his pocket-money, so that there was quite enough of 
the two beverages to promote innocent exhilaration, and not 
enough to stimulate it beyond the bounds of propriety. The 
first tankard was voted unanimously to the obliging Orpheus ol 
the evening, who, after a moderate libation, descended from the rick, 
and graciously bowing to the revellers, and making them a dainty 
little speech, but quite long enough for the occasion, with some- 
thing in it to please everybody, lads and lasses, rustics and me 
chanics, withdrew from the yard amidst loud plaudits, and carry 
ing all hearts along with him. 


• • ♦- 


CHAPTER XL 

HOW REUBEN CELEBRATED HIS GRANDFATHER’S MARRIAGE. 

It was a great step towards Reuben’s complete recovery, when 
he became composed enough to converse with Mrs. Reeves upon 
his grandfather’s singular marriage. Mrs. Reeves had long been 
anxious to have a palaver with him on the subject, but she did 
not know how an allusion to it by her might be taken, and this 
consideration had kept her silent. But it was not in the nature 
of woman to endure such restraint for ever, so when the house- 
keeper found that Reuben would not take the initiative, she de- 
termined to take it herself, and when she once began it was a 
task beyond the power of Reuben to stop her. 

“ Well, wonders,” she thought, “ would never cease, and she 
did not know what the world would come to at last, for she re- 
membered the time when gentlemen who were stricken in years, 
like her master, used to think of the burial-service more than the 
marriage-service. To be sure the Dean was hale and hearty, and 
a stout comely man for his years, but he was an old man never- 
theless ; for she was not a young creature herself, but she remem- 
bered the first day she ever laid eyes upon him, when she was 
only a giddy girl, and he w r as not a young man at that time. She 
had served two mistresses, and she never thought to be called on 
to serve a third, but if it was the will of Heaven, she was pre- 
pared to submit.” 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


97 


Reuben approved of the spirit evinced by Mrs. Reeves. It 
was necessary to say something, and this answered the purpose. 

Mrs. Reeves then proceeded to say, that “ she didn’t see much 
use in sense and learning, since all the learning her master had in 
his head didn’t make him wiser than other people after all : it was 
bad enough to marry at all, but if marry he must, he might have 
chosen some respectable elderly person, not a giddy, gay, inex- 
perienced young lady, and handsome, she was informed, into the 
bargain. 

This was painful to Reuben’s ears, and he would have put 
an end to it, if he had been able. 

“ I suppose,” he said, again in doubt what he ought to say, 
“my grandfather wanted a companion, somebody to manage 
his house for him.” 

This was rather a maladroit remark. “ His house was not 
so ill-managed as all that,” returned Mrs. Reeves, drily ; “ though 
she said it that should not say it ; and as to companions, he had 
his books, he had his own writings and sermons ; had he not as 
much company as he chose to invite ? — and was not she always 
willing* when he was lonely, to bring in her knitting, or her iron- 
ing, or whatever little thing she was doing, if it was only an 
apple-dumpling she was making, and sit anywhere he pleased ? 
he might talk to her, or let it alone, just as he liked; but he 
never was, to say, an affable sort of a gentleman at any period 
of his life ; and since he began to dabble in mortar, it had not 
sweetened his temper. Then she hoped and trusted his new wife 
would prove a better match for him than the two who were in 
heaven ; but perhaps Master Reuben could tell her something 
about the young lady, as he had come from Hereford where 
she lived.” 

Reuben had been apprehensive it would come to this, but 
there was no help for it, so he did his best to commad his emo- 
tions, and being once compelled to speak of Blanche, he could 
not do so except in terms the most laudatory, and even enthusi- 
astic. In short, he was warmed by the theme, and ended by leaving 
Mrs. Reeves under the satisfactory conviction that if her new mis- 
tress laboured under the disadvantage of being young and hand- 
some, she made some amends for those defects by being at the 
same time one of the most angelic of her sex. 

The Dean’s house presented now the edif; ing picture of a 
most diligent community ; the workmen busy from morn till 
night at the repairs ; Reuben labouring at his catalogue ; Mrs. 

5 


98 the universal genius ; 

Reeves manufacturing the fruits of the season into jams and con- 
serves ; in short, the bees were n^t a more industrious common- 
wealth. Catalogue-making pleased Reuben, because it not only 
exercised his ingenuity, but augmented his knowledge of the re- 
sources of literature. Reuben found numerous works in his 
grandfather’s collection, of the very existence of which he had 
been ignorant ; nay, he scarcely Snew that there were such sub- 
jects as they treated of. Among others he found some curious 
old treatises on astrology, w T hich seduced him for a day or two 
from his immediate pursuit. While interested in this idle study, 
he covered whole sheets of paper, and all the backs of his letters 
with diagrams, horoscopes, and calculations of imaginary nativ- 
ities according to the rules which he found in the books. At 
length, having exhausted his paper, and wanting a more extended 
space for the working of a greater problem than he had yet en- 
countered, he cleared the centre of the floor, drew his figures 
and circles with chalk, and began to realize to himself the actual 
operations of a cunning man of the middle ages. While he was 
occupied thus, his friend the carpenter came to him to solicit an- 
other favour, but it was a favour for the glazier, not for himself ; 
in fact, the glazier wanted to send his Fanny a love letter, and 
wishing the letter to be a finer composition than he felt himself 
equal to produce, the idea had occurred to him of prevailing on 
our hero to compose one for him. The carpenter was indeed in- 
structed to s^ty, that there was little doubt of the heart of Fanny 
yielding to the pen of Master Reuben Medlicott, if he would 
kindly lend his genius for the occasion, and write the billet doux 
with a crow-quill. Reuben was interrupted and disturbed, but 
he was also flattered by this request. The crow-quill was easily 
found ; the glazier, with his friend the carpenter, attended in the 
library after the work of the day, and an epistle was written, 
which (as Reuben long afterwards confessed), consisted for the 
most part of the identical tender thoughts and sentimental 
similies, which, arrayed in nearly the same words, had formed 
the materials of his letter to Blanche Barsac. u The fact was,” 
he used to say, in his own excuse, u I was so engrossed by the 
astrology that original composition at the moment was out of the 
question.” The gratitude of the glazier was unbounded ; but 
give most men an inch and they will take an ell if they can get 
it. The carpenter re-appeared when Reuben was at breakfast, 
the next morning, and glancing knowingly at the figures and 
spheres with which the floor of the library wa ; covered, he ven- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


99 


tured to hint, after some circumlocution, that Mr. Medlicoffc could, 
if he pleased, form a tolerably shrewd guess as to the tature for- 
tunes of the glazier and his love. 

- Though Reuben declined to pry into the book of fate, even 
for the sake of comforting an affliction with which he could not 
but profoundly sympathise, it did not prevent his fame from 
spreading abroad for fortune-telling as well as letter-writing. Not 
many days elapsed before our magician, malgre lui , had two ap- 
plications made to him, one for the discovery of a cow which 
had been stolen from a poor farmer, and the second, in another 
love case, to divine the success of a young man in the neighbour- 
hood with Dorothy, the gardener’s daughter. 

In the middle of all this, and in strict keeping with the ab- 
ruptness of everything connected with the life and movements 
of Dean Wyndham, down came the news of his wedding. 

As it was to be, it was well it was over. Reuben’s love was 
now his grandmother. 

“After all,” he said sensibly to himself, at the end of a soli- 
tary walk which he took to compose his spirits, “ I am only 
eighteen, and Blanche is twenty-seven ; she is certainly too young 
to be my grandmother, but she is also too old to be my wife.” 
The same evening brought him a letter from home. Blanche 
had written his mother a charming letter a few days before her 
marriage, and sent her the picture she had drawn of Reuben, 
which had actually _only required a few finishing touches, and 
those she had given from memory. The picture pleased Mrs. 
Medlicott extremely, and it was already placed over the chimney- 
pioce of the dining-parlour, in a frame much too costly for what 
it contained, considered as a work of art. 

When the Dean’s wedding was noised abroad, it caused pro- 
digious excitement, and as he had sent Mrs. Reeves a sum of 
money, to promote a little gaiety on the occasion among his 
people at Westbury, what form that gaiety ought to take became 
an immediate subject of deliberation. Another rustic ball was 
resolved on, and as the moon was no longer auspicious, the barn 
was selected for the scene of festivity. A box of candles was 
ordered from the nearest town, and the carpenters with a few 
hoops made some capital substitutes for chandeliers, all under 
Reuben’s directions ; for, without any formal appointment, or 
any ambition to obtain it, he found himself installed in the office 
of masterof the revels. The walls had their nakedness handsomely 
4othed with festoons of evergreens and flowers ; the floor was 


100 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


well rolled and made as smooth as it was possible to make it; a 
substantial supper was prepared ; a hogshead of cider stood ready 
to be broached ; all the fiddlers and pipers within reach were re- 
tained specially, and a Welsh harper, who was on his way to a 
meeting of the bards, was induced to sojourn for the night, and 
add his contribution to the music. The Dean had no idea of 
such doings, or he would never have sent the donation, for there 
was an end of all labour on the farm, and all work within doors 
for the two days preceding the/ete. The greatest excitement of 
all, however, was among the girls, wondering and discussing 
which of them would be honoured with Reuben’s hand, for the 
ball would, of course, be opened by him; and whether it was a 
nymph of the dairy, the garden, or the bedrooms, it was certain 
that the honour of being his partner would fall to the lot of 
somebody. 

All would have gone well if they had been content with the 
dancing, but Reuben unluckily knew something about making 
fire-works, and the moment the word was mentioned, it became 
clear to everybody that without fire-works, the celebration of the 
nuptials might as well be abandoned altogether. Accordingly 
lo work he went at the pyrotechnics, and, aided by the carpenter 
and glazier, who were now his most devoted servants, a quantity 
of rockets, squibs, crackers, and a few more ingenious devices, 
were produced in a wonderfully short time, as there was no dif- 
ficulty about procuring gunpowder. 

It was arranged that the fire-works should precede the ball 
and supper ; had it been otherwise, they might have secured 
the latter enjoyments at all events ; but the fire-works had the 
precedence, and the beginning of the display was most success- 
ful. Reuben let off the rockets with his own hands, and the 
wonder and delight of everybody was at the height, when an ex- 
clamation was heard that the great hay-rick had caught fire. 
Consternation soon took the place of mirth. The rick was in a 
blaze before the nimblest could reach the yard. All that could 
be done to extinguish the flames, by putting up ladders and car- 
rying up buckets of water, was done with as much expedition 
and activity as possible, but in spite of every effort tie fire con- 
tinued to rage, and soon extending to other ricks and s \me stacks 
of corn, threatened the entire of Dean Wyndham’s farm-property 
with destruction. Reuben behaved now like a hero, if he had 
not acted before like a philosopher. His exertions were beyond 
those of anybody else, except perhaps his friends, the mechanics, 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 101 

who supported him as well as men could do. The utmost, how- 
ever, that could be effected was to save the buildings and the 
cattle. All the hay and com in the yard, with many of the ag- 
ricultural implements, were a heap of ashes before the sun rose 
the following morning; and as to Reuben, who considered him- 
self the responsible person for the calamity, between the toil he 
underwent, the drenching of his clothes, and his mental-suffer- 
ings, when poor Mrs. Reeves (herself in a pitiable situation) put 
him to bed at four o’clock in the morning, he was in the first 
stage of a high fever, 


THE UNIVERSAL c ENIUS ; 


102 


BOOK THE THIRD. 


“Tis the Philosopher, the Orator, the Poet, whom we may compare to some first, 
rate vessel, which launches out into the wide sea, and with a proud motion insults the 
encountering surges. We are of the small-craft, or galley kind. We move chiefly by 
starts and bounds, according as our motion is by frequent intervals renewed. We have 
no great adventure in view, nor can tell certainly whither we are bound. We under- 
take no mighty voyage by help of stars or compass, but row from creek to creek, keep 
up a coasting trade, and are fitted only for fair weather and the summer season. —Shaf- 
tesbury's Characteristics. 


ARGUMENT. 

This brief book is an interlude between school and college. Returned to 
quiet Underwood, we shall make the acquaintance of some very dis- 
agreeable, impertinent, meddling and unconscionable people, happy in 
the name of Pigwidgeon, the only pleasant thing about them. They 
were none of Reuben’s friends : his parents brought them upon him — * 
his mother by being so clever a woman, his father by being so easy a 
man. In short, the Medlicotts were Pigwidgeoned, and we are not to 
pity them, for they brought the Pigwidgeoning on themselves. Pigwid- 
geoning will prove to be a social usage, nearly akin to sponging, although 
you will hardly find the word in the books of synonymes. Much is to be 
said against the practice, much also in its defence and favour; in particu- 
lar how it leads to the development of numerous Christian graces and 
excellencies of the human character. Doth it not put into daily practice 
the noble virtue of self-abasement? Is not the spirit of martyrdom as 
much evinced in suffering the snubs and rubs, and all the thousand ills 
that sponging is heir to, as in roasting like Latimer, or being fried like 
St. Lawrence ! There are men of such exemplary fortitude as to submit 
to be roasted themselves for the sake of a roast sirloin, and make them- 
selves the butt of the company for a glass or two of wine. What infinite 
mortifications abroad does not such a man endure, nay court, which he 
might easily escape by dining selfishly at home upon a mutton chop? 
Can the spirit of self-devotion descend lower, or should we not rather 
ask, can this noble spirit be conceived to soar higher than this ? To enter 
ungreeted, to depart amidst general satisfaction, to feel that he is the guest 
by sufferance of one who is a host of necessity, to know that an evil eye 
follows every motion of his fork, to feel that a bailiff or tax-gatherer would 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


103 


receive a more cordial welcome, would make ambrosia itself bitter, and 
turn a very cup of nectar sour. How then shall we ever enough sdmire 
the brave race which encounters these manifold evils undismayed. How 
strong must be their social yearnings? How great the warmth within, 
that counteracts the frigid look, the wintry reception, the cold shoulder ? 
How genial the glow of that self -hospitality which sustains them in the 
arctic regions abroad, to penetrate which they leave the temperate cli- 
mate of their own fire-sides with a gallantry like that of our rarrys and 
our Franklins. 

But this will be found not only a book of tribulations but a book of 
travels. There is no room in the Welch inns with our friends the Medli- 
cotts, the Hopkinses, the Primroses, and Winnings. Reuben must have 
his travelling physician, too, for he travels for health, while the rest travel 
for pleasure — except the Vicar, indeed, with whom it is a matter of ne- 
cessity, being turned out of his house, and in the condition of the badger 
whose hole has been seized by the fox, or of the eagle, whose unguarded 
nest the sneaking weasel has invaded. Reuben is popular in the princi- 
pality, where he learns the Welch tongue and the Welch harp, and breaks 
the hearts of the Welch maidens. As to his own, it is again in some 
slight danger; we shall now detect the winged mischief lurking in a 
plump Quaker’s bonnet to launch another of his frivolous bolts at the 
boy’s heart; for there are hazards incidental to learning the guttural 
Welch as well as the liquid Italian in company with a fair young friend 
— perils not less formidable perhaps than sitting for one’s picture. Yet 
nothing serious is immediately to be apprehended ; Reuben will prob- 
ably reach Cambridge heart-whole. 


>»« 

CHAPTER L 

CHAPTER OP RETROSPECTS. — REUBEN IS BORED; HIS PARENTS ARE 

PIGWIDGEONED. 

Leaving the subject of our history for a short time to the tender 
care of Mrs. Reeves and the skill of Dr. Page, the physician of the 
neighbourhood, we fly back to Underwood with the alarming 
news of Reuben’s illness ; and having arrived there it will not be 
amiss to put the reader briefly in possession of what had been 
doing at the Vicarage since we left it to go to school. 

People of passive character often exercise surprising influence 
in domestic life, just as the most yielding substances, such as a 
snail or a branch of fern, will often leave their stamps for many 
centuries in the solid rock. Thus the absence of Reuben from 
home made a serious change at Underwood. The Vicar, becom- 
ing more and more absorbed in his pinks and strawberries, hav- 


104 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


ing no further motive to keep up his Greek and Lat ti, was less a 
companion for his wife than ever, and the little fund of wit he 
possessed would have become rusty indeed but for the occasional 
burnishing he gave it when he met a pleasant party at Mrs. Win- 
ning’s, or chatted with Hannah Hopkins, or a brother parson, 
beneath the walnut-tree, or under the mahogany. 

Mrs. Medlicott’s spirits had been deeply affected by the sepa- 
ration from her son, and she missed, even more than her husband, 
the favourite and engrossing occupation of twelve anxious years. 
But she had more consolations and resources than her spouse. 
In the first place she had the solace of continually writing to her 
son, and receiving his dutiful and minute letters; then her mind 
(you know) if it had any fault, was only too richly caparisoned ; 
and, lastly, she possessed in a very strong degree that womanly 
yearning towards her species, which made solitude absolutely in- 
tolerable to her, particularly in the prosecution of her intellectual 
pursuits. She had long been an ardent phrenologist, but now 
she cultivated that subject with redoubled spirit, pronouncing it 
decidedly one of the inductive sciences, and questioning whether 
Dr. Spurzheim w^as not as illustrious a philosopher as Sir Isaac 
Newton. Her great ally in the prosecution of her craniologicai 
studies was a certain slovenly, sycophantic, gossipping apothecary* 
of the name of Pigwidgeon, father to that interesting youth whose 
attempt to appropriate a certain cake belonging to Reuben was 
related in an early chapter. This Mr. Pigwidgeon had some re- 
putation for skill, and would have had more business if he had 
not been so painfully negligent of his personal appearance, and so 
addicted to sponging upon his patients. He had a tincture of 
learning, just enough to pass for erudition with people who were 
not erudite, and being conceited in proportion to his real ignor- 
ance, he was inordinately vain of his acquaintance and intimacy 
with Mrs. Medlicott, though the fun of the kitchen was that which 
he still more valued. A few years had made considerable change 
in the personal appearance of his son Theodore ; he looked as 
much a booby as ever, but he was tall, had good features, a fresh 
florid complexion, abundance of black hair, and lively boisterous 
spirits, which made him an insufferable bore to all who were not for 
some reason or another excessively partial to him. The father had 
already announced his intention to make a physician of him, and 
to show what a natural genius he had for that profession, Mr. 
Theodore Pigwidgeon never heard a complaint or disease men- 
tioned, but he had a trick of exclaiming— “ I wonder what’s good 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


105 


for that” The apothecary pronounced the measurements of the 
lad’s cranium magnificent, and of course predicted for him a ca- 
reer of the most dazzling description, while the li itle public of 
Underwood, on the contrary, relied upon Lavater’s system more 
than Spurzheim’s, and the effect of the father’s over-weeningness 
was that the son got only more generally laughed at, and went 
in derision by the name of “ the Doctor.” Mrs. Medlicott was 
one of the few who took young Pigwidgeon’s part ; but com- 
manding intellects are the most tolerant of mental inferiority in 
those about them ; besides the apothecary never pretended that the 
Doctors developments were altogether equal to Reuben’s, which 
might have excited a mother’s jealousy. Between Mr. Pig wid- 
geon, indeed, and Mrs. Medlicott, the great bond of union -was the 
inexhaustible subject of Reuben’s skull. Mr. Pigwidgeon had 
long ago taken its measurements in due form, with the brass 
gauge or craniometer, which he always carried about him in one 
pocket of his coat, to balance the stethoscope which he carried in 
the other, and had made an exact inventory of the organs, a copy 
of which Mrs. Medlicott possessed, and nobody can conceive what 
a comfort it was to her, when the head itself was no longer near 
her. But with Pigwidgeon junior she had other and wider asso- 
ciations ; her profound study of the mind enabled her to discover 
that his seeming obtuseness was only the temporary dormancy 
of very respectable talents, if not of actual genius, and the next 
step brought her to the point of feeling that it was her duty to 
awaken that somnolent state of the brain of so nice a young man 
into life and activity. Thus her didactic abilities came into play 
again, just when she was beginning to fear that her maternal 
mission was concluded. She now had somebody, or rather some- 
thing to lecture and belecture as before ; and dull, or rather dor- 
mant as the Doctor’s faculties were, he was not insensible to the 
honour of being the pupil or fellow-student of the Minerva-like 
matron, who laid herself out to improve and develope him. 

The first occasion upon which Reuben noticed the growing 
domestication of the Pigwidgeons at the Vicarage, was once upon 
returning home for the vacation, in the beginning of the dogdays. 
His father happened not to be at home on his arrival, but his 
mother seeing him approach, bustled out to receive him, and af- 
ter tenderly embracing him on the little close-shaven lawn, led 
him into the cool shady room where she had been sitting, and 
where Reuben, not without some surprise, found the apotheauy’s 
son, with whom he had never been on intimate terms, and w; pm 
6 * 


106 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS , 


of late years he had never heard mentioned withor.fc ridicule, 
Reuben was always shy, and young Pigwidgeon was nothing 
short of a lout in his manners. The meeting was anything but 
cordial, nor were matters much improved when Mrs. Medlicott 
went about her domestic affairs, and left the young men to “ en- 
tertain one another.” 

Reuben hardly knew whether it was his office to amuse Pig- 
widgeon, or Pigwidgeon’s to amuse him ; Reuben was at home 
certainly, but really the other looked very much at home too, to 
judge from his unceremonious dress, and the graceful New-Eng- 
land freedom with which he had extended his kibber length up- 
on the only sofa in the room. 

Pigwidgeon yawned and said it was a hot day. 

Reuben agreed in the briefest possible terms. 

The former expressed his surprise that Reuben did not wear 
a broad-leafed straw hat like his own, as everybody did in the 
country. 

Reuben said he had not got one, at which capital jest Pig- 
widgeon laughed in his facetious way, ho, ho, ho, &c. 

“ How many boys are there at the school ?” 

u Sixty.” 

“ Are any of them ever sick ?” 

“ Sometimes ; there was one boy very bad with the croup 
when I left.” 

“ I wonder what is good for that,” said the Doctor. 

The conversation ended as it had begun, with Pigwidgeon 
yawning freely, after which he got on his legs, and said he would 
go and have some strawberries, at the same time politely inviting 
Reuben to have some too. 

When Mrs. Medlicott returned she found her son where she 
had left him, and looked displeased that he had not accompanied 
Pigwidgeon to the strawberry beds. She took that opportunity 
of letting Reuben know the lively interest she felt in the young 
man, and expressed an anxiety that they should become friends 
and companions. 

Reuben made a dutiful effort to like Pigwidgeon, because his 
mother was anxious about it, but friendship will obey a mother 
no better than love. The thing was not to be dane. It was out 
of the question to take an interest in him, unless you were en- 
gaged, as Mrs. Medlicott was, in developing his faculties. 

The enjoyment of several vacations was marred to Reuben 
by the almost daily presence of a booby whom he despised, but 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


107 


from whoso society in a limited rural circle there w ns no means 
of escaping. The vicar despised him too, and though little given 
to be satirical on his friends or lik guests, could not help making 
himself merry now and then in a guarded way at Pigwidgeon’s 
expense, particularly at his favourite exclamation — “I wonder 
what’s good for that.” But neither father nor son had the moral 
courage to express their sentiments freely. They received the 
Pig widgeons as a visitation of Providence, and submitted to it 
with as much fortitude as they could muster. 

The only holidays Reuben thoroughly enjoyed were while 
Theodore Pigwidgeon was running the London hospitals, as the 
phrase is ; but that stage in the young man’s medical education 
only rendered him more ridiculous and offensive when he re- 
turned to Underwood after it. He returned wearing moustaches, 
turning down his shirt-collar, and talking of the eminent physi- 
cians and surgeons of the day, as if they were his playmates. 
Reuben marvelled how his father, easy as he was, tolerated such 
a creature, and as to his mother, who actually admired him, 
Reuben could only account for her conduct by believing her 
under the influence of some possession. He now seldom enjoyed 
a ramble in the fields with her, without the “ Doctor ” accompa- 
nying or joining them. It was Pigwidgeon who helped her 
over the stiles, Pigwidgeon who arranged her shawl when it 
slipped from her shoulders, Pigwidgeon who held her spectacles 
when she was energetic, Pigwidgeon here, Pigwidgeon there, 
Pigwidgeon everywhere. 

Then after the infliction of the son for the greater part of a 
day, would follow only too often the visitation of the father at 
the close of it. Evening came on anything but sweetly when it 
brought the apothecary with it, and he made himself particularly 
disagreeable to Reuben by volunteering an opinion that his chest 
was not strong, and that playing the flageolet was not good for 
him. His parents had not consented to his learning that instru- 
ment without consulting Mr. Pigwidgeon in the first instance. 
The apothecary had then made no objection, but when Reuben 
was at home, our Pill Garlic (who was generally meddling with 
people’s lungs when he was not measuring their skulls) began to 
change his mind, and talk of sounding his chest with the steth- 
oscope one of those days. 

Reuben was sent for by his mother one morring, and found 
her seated under the walnut-tree, reading. The book was a 
scientific book on the Diseases of the Chest and Lungs, which 
tko apothecary had lent to her. 


108 


THE UNIVERSAL GENI ?S ] 


The following dialogue then took place : 

“Well, mother,” said Reuben, sitting down at her side. 

“What I am about to say,” she said, after preparing hel 
voice and assuming a serious manner, “ is of considerable impor 
tance. Mr. Pigwidgeon, you must know, who is very friendly, 
extremely skilful, and very much attached to you, my dear 
Reuben, has been talking to me a good deal lately about the 
state of your chest.” 

“ My chest, my dear mother ! ” exclaimed Reuben, not able 
to refrain from laughing. 

“ Yes, my dear, he thinks your lungs are not quite as strong 
as he would wish them to be, and as he hopes to make them.” 

Reuben again smiled at the notion of anything being the 
matter with his lungs. Well he might ; for nature had made 
him only too vigorous in that part of his constitution. 

Mrs. Medlicott took off her spectacles, and said that medical 
men were not infallible of course, but that their opinions were 
not to be despised, particularly when it was manifest that their 
opinions were perfectly disinterested. 

“ Let Mr. Pigwidgeon be ever so disinterested, mother, and 
ever so skilful, I am not the less satisfied that there’s nothing 
amiss with' my lungs. What could have put such a notion into 
his strange head ? ” 

“ I trust you are right, my dear Reuben ; but I hope you will 
not be obstinate on a matter of such vital importance. I am 
sure, Reuben, you would even make some little sacrifice to make 
my mind easy.” 

“ I conclude, mother,” replied Reuben, “ you wish me to 
submit to be stethoscoped; if so, you shall be gratified, although 
the prospect of undergoing that, or any other operation at Mr. 
Pigwidgeon’s hands, is not the most agreeable in the world.” 

“ I was not alluding merely to the stethoscope,” replied Mrs. 
Medlicott, a little drily ; “ Mr. Pigwidgeon has his doubts whether 
playing the flageolet is good for you.” 

“ Really, mother,” said Reuben, standing up, “ this is too 
bad ; who asked his opinion on the subject ? When people want 
opinions on their lungs they don’t consult country apothecaries.” 

“ Theodore fully concurs with him,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 

“ Which, I am sure, mother,” cried Reuben, with unusual 
impatience, “ adds very little weight to his authority. Mr. 
Theodore Pigwidgeon is neither a doctor nor an apothecary — as 
yet.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN, 


109 


Mrs. Medlicott was greatly displeased at the toi e taken by 
her son, but she commanded her feelings ; and the interview 
ended by Reuben’s amiable consent to have his chest examined, 
feeling, indeed, too confident in the soundness of his lungs to be 
apprehensive about the result. 

There was one spot in the garden which Reuben in his ima- 
ginative boyhood had always thought the prettiest, and where it 
had been his wont in the days of domestic instruction often to 
establish himself in fine weather, with the birds warbling and 
hopping about him, the flowers scenting the air, and the butter- 
flies sometimes perching on his books. There was a rustic bench 
fixed there, and a massive round table, of the same rough con- 
struction, which answered the purposes of study and occasionally 
those of tea,. A few evenings after the conversation with his 
mother which we have just related, Reuben, entering this 
favourite spot, found his father and the apothecary there, sipping 
something, he knew not what, only that the drinking-vessels 
were not tea-cups. The sweet smell of the garden was lost in 
the vapour of the negus or the toddy. His bower was turned 
into a sort of cabaret. The circular marks of the glasses were 
visible all over the rustic table, as you see them in the casinos 
and suburban tea-gardens. 

When Reuben appeared, Mr. Pigwidgeon shuffled about, 
invited him to take a seat by his side — a civility which Reuben 
declined with the driest acknowledgment, for nobody ever sat by 
the side of the apothecary who could avoid it. He smelled of 
senna in the morning, and of tobacco in the evening ; besides he 
took snuff in enormous quantities, and scattered it about him so 
liberally in the act, that it was almost impossible to be irv the 
same house with him without continually sneezing. Reuben 
was turning away to seek his mother, when she saved him that 
trouble by appearing at the moment, attended, as usual, by her 
medical student. Tea was ordered in the bower, and while it 
was preparing, the apothecary fumbled in his pockets, produced 
his stethoscope, and said it was a very good opportunity for 
making a little examination of Reuben’s chest. Reuben sub- 
mitted with as much patience as he could muster, while his 
mother stood by, looking on with the greatest interest and 
anxiety, and watching the apothecary’s countenance, to try to 
find out what opinion he was forming as he proceeded with his 
soundings. The Vicar had taken up a newspaper, and paid no 
attention whatsoever to what was going forward. When M» 


110 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 


Pigwidgeon was done he pronounced the sort c/ ambiguous 
judgment so commonly pronounced by medical practitioners — 
that there was nothing, he hoped, decidedly wrong about the 
lungs, but that there were indications of weakness which he 
thought ought not to be neglected ; he might, however, be mis- 
taken, and, as two heads were better than one, he wished his son 
would take the stethoscope, and say what he thought on the 
subject. This was too much for Reuben’s patience, amiable as he 
was. When the Doctor, with his usual “ho, ho,” took the 
instrument and advanced to manipulate him, he repelled him 
with very little ceremony, and* the Vicar at the same time 
looking up from his paper, was evidently pleased to see an end 
put to operations which he considered absurd and superfluous. 

Young Pigwidgeon himself seemed to mind the repulse ex- 
ceedingly little ; his attention was strongly solicited at this mo- 
ment by the cakes and the fruits with which the maids were 
spreading the tea-table, and he laid the stethoscope aside with a 
u ho ! ho !” as he took it up ; but the paternal vanity of the apothe- 
cary was visibly wounded, and he was as bitter as rhubarb the 
rest of the evening, though he was not less devoted than his son 
to the repast before him. Indeed, even if the Doctor had been 
ever so angry with Reuben for the disrespect shown to his medi- 
cal skill, the redoubled favours of Mrs. Medlicott would have 
amply compensated him, for she made him sit by her side, and, 
loading him at the same time with compliments and other sweets 
of a more substantial nature, effectually prevented him from fall- 
ing the tenth of an inch in his own estimation. 

Another circumstance, which occurred at a later period, and 
arose out of the incident just related, tended still more decidedly 
to generate a malignant feeling towards Reuben in the mind of 
the elder Pigwidgeon, though the animal interests he had in 
maintaining friendly relations with the Vicar and his family made 
him very careful not to display his real sentiments. The maga- 
zine has been mentioned which Reuben and his friend Primrose 
established at Hereford. On the return of the former to school, 
after the annoyance which he had experienced from the apothe- 
cary and the stethoscope, he entertained his nimble-witted friend 
with an account of the affair, and gave him a description of Mr. 
Pigwidgeon, which Primrose thought so comical that he made it 
the subject of an article in the next number of the periodical. 
The paper was entitled “A Portrait of a Country Apothecary,” 
and, except that the name was changol, nobody who had ever 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


Ill 


seen the subject of it could, without extraordinary obtuseness, 
have mistaken the aim of the writer. The magazine went down 
to Underwood as usual, for Mrs. Medlicott had made Reuben 
promise to send it to her regularly. It was winter ; dinner was 
over; the Vicar and his wife, the apothecary and his son, formed 
a small semicircle about the fire (not, however, to the exclusion 
of a table with a bottle of port upon it, and a plate of walnuts), 
when what should arrive but the packet from Hereford, with the 
last new number of the “Mirror,” for so the magazine was desig- 
nated. The apothecary was the first to" petition most earnestly 
for a specimen of Master Reuben’s essays in polite literature, but 
the paper entitled the “ Country Apothecary,” looked so piquant 
that the Vicar said they must have that first, and the Pigwid- 
geons were equally anxious to have it. 

The Doctor was the reader upon such occasions ; he read as 
if he had a walnut in his mouth, and was not very punctilious 
about the stops, but Mrs. Medlicott said he read with feeling, and 
there was nobody to dispute her opinion. He had not read a 
couple of pages before the Medlicotts were horribly alive to the 
design of the paper; neither of them dared to look at the apothe- 
cary, or they might have seen by the contortions of his strange 
physiognomy that he too shrewdly guessed who had sat for the 
picture. Nor did they venture to stop the reader, much as they 
burned to do so, while he, being too dull to perceive anything in 
the world less palpable than a door-post, mouthed the libel upon 
his father to the last syllable, and laid the paper down with a 
protracted yawn, by way of a general critique, which was proba- 
bly a very just one upon the performance. 

The letters H. P. however were subscribed to the article ; that 
was the only comfort the Medlicotts had, for they did not enter- 
tain the slightest doubt that the apothecary had recognised his 
own image in the “ Mirror.” 

Let this be no disparagement to Mr. Pigwidgeon’s merits as 
"a hypocrite of considerable ability, or, perhaps, we should rather 
say, as a sensible man of the w r orld, for he was never louder in 
his flatteries of Reuben than he was that same evening; and the 
better to mask what probably passsed in his mind, he made no 
change in his conduct, but continued to drop in at the Vicarage 
in his usual unceremonious fashion, to dine one day and sup 
another, just as if nothing had happened to hurt his feelings. 

This state of things continued up to the period of Reuben’s 
illness at his grandfathers country -l/ouse, when the paternal pride 


112 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


of the apothecary received another blow which he did not stom- 
ach so easily as the wound to his amour jyrojore . 


CHAPTER n. 

keuben’s recovery and the joy it occasioned 

u The young incendiary !” said the Vicar, when he heard of the 
events at Westbury. 

Mrs. Reeves was slow at writing and walking, but she had 
employed the parish clerk to write to Underwood, and had thus 
informed Reuben’s parents of his serious illness and the causes 
that led to it. The same letter mentioned that the best medical 
advice in the neighbourhood had been provided, which was that 
of a Doctor Page, who turned out to be an old acquaintance of 
Mr. Medlicott’s. 

The Vicar was unable to leave home at the time, owing to 
the pressure of his pastoral duties, so the anxious mother deter- 
mined to set out immediately. While she was making, her little 
preparations, Mr. Pigwidgeon dropped in, and no sooner did he 
hear of Reuben’s illness, and Mrs. Medlicott’s intended journey, 
than he proffered the services of his son to accompany her to 
Westbury, and save the expense of a regular physician. The 
escort would have been extremely agreeable, but with all Mrs. 
Medlicott’s high opinion of her friend Theodore, her regard for her 
son was too strong to allow her to think seriously for a moment 
of the latter part of the apothecary’s proposal. It placed her, 
however, in a difficulty, which she tried to evade by thanking the 
father, and saying that “ the company of Theodore would no 
doubt be a great comfort to her on the road.” 

“ And a greater comfort to you,” said Pigwidgeon, “ when you 
come to the end of your journey.” 

“ What do you allude to ?” asked the Vicar, who just came in 
at the moment and only heard the last words. 

Mrs. Medlicott repeated the offer which the apothecary had so 
kindly made. 

“ It will save you some guineas, let me tell you,” said Pig- 
widgeon, accompanying the coarse speech with an equally coarse 
action, a little punch under the ribs with his forefinger. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


113 


The words and the action together made the Vicar forget 
himself for a moment, and he thanked Mr. Pigwidgeon in a man- 
ner so little gracious that it provoked from that gentleman a still 
less becoming observation on the slight to his son’s medical skill, 
which he said he could not but take as a slight to himself. The 
Vicar replied as softly as he could that it was nonsense to say he 
had offered a slight to either father or son ; at all events he had 
meant to do no such thing ; he felt that Mr. Pigwidgeon’s propo- 
sition was a very kind one, but he could not think of putting his 
son to the trouble and expense of such a journey, particularly as 
Reuben was fortunately already in the hands of a very skilful 
local physician, his old friend Dr. Page. 

Directly the Vicar named this gentleman he saw that it had 
the same effect upon the apothecary that oil has upon fire. Mr. 
Pigwidgeon had evidently some bitter personal enmity to the 
physician of Westbury, for he lost the command of his temper 
when he was mentioned, and went away in high dudgeon, say- 
ing as he went “ that his son Theodore, although he had not got 
his diploma, had more knowledge in his little finger than a 
whole college of Dr. Pages ; he called Page twenty quacks and 
mountebanks ; vowed he would not trust him with the life of a 
kitten, much less the life of one of his children ; but he had done 
his duty, and now he washed his hands of it.” 

This was a favourite phrase with Pigwidgeon, and nobody 
could hear him use it, without wishing him to perform the opera- 
tion literally, for his hands always looked as if they required 
washing extremely, though this was in some measure owing to 
the colour of the skin which was precisely that which arises from 
a chronic neglect of soap and water. 

Mrs. Medlicott left the Vicarage that night, not even taking 
a maid with her, for she was not one of those women who can 
do nothing for themselves, and the Vicar’s small means made 
even a smali increase of expense a matter of serious consideration. 
At starting she was the only inside passenger, but the coach 
stopped at Mrs. Winning’s gate and took in two gentlemen. 
Mrs. Medlicott recognised neither of them; indeed it was too 
dark to distinguish their faces, even if they had been old acquaint- 
ances. They were polite to her ; left the best seat to her exclu- 
sive occupation, but only conversed with one another. They had 
been laughing before they entered the coach, and they were still 
in the same vein, whatever it was that diverted them, and this 
was not very long a secret from their fair fellow traveller, for the 
elder said to the younger — 


114 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


“ Of all tlie preposterous marriages I ever heard of, this of 
Dean Wyndham is the most preposterous. There is an account 
of it in the ‘Times’ of yesterday, copied from the ‘Hereford Ex- 
press’ — why the Dean must be near seventy.” 

“ So they say.” 

“ You know him, I think.” 

“ I have often met' him, but I can’t say I know him ; he keeps 
fellows like me at an awful distance. There was a grandson of 
his at Finchley, a great friend of mine. We were all intimate 
with those Barsacs. Your nephew George, Primrose, Medlicott, 
and myself, were invited to all their balls ; — but you have not 
heard the most amusing circumstance about the marriage in 
question.” 

“No !” 

“ Medlicott, I hear, was in love with the girl who turned out 
to be his grandfather’s flame, and who is now of course his grand- 
mother.” 

“ Capital !” 

“ The girl herself may have behaved indiscreetly, but I have 
no doubt my susceptible friend acted as sentimental and soft a 
part as possible.” 

“ With his grandfather’s example before his eyes, whafc less 
could he do ?” 

“ Yet Medlicott is a very clever and promising fellow ; too 
clever in fact ; ’tis almost the only fault he has.” 

“ He takes that from his mother* Do you know her ? Very 
blue, I am told.” 

“ Blue as Minerva,” said the younger. 

Here Reuben’s mother, who had been listening to the dia- 
logue with the greatest interest and curiosity, gave a little cough, 
which whether intended to be admonishing or not, had the effect 
of recalling the attention of her companions to her presence, and 
suggesting the imprudence of carrying their personal remarks 
further. Indeed the conversation ceased at this point ; the elder 
gentleman (who was Sir John de Tabley, uncle to the young epi- 
cure of Finchley) drew out a sort of travelling night-cap and sank 
into his corner where he soon fell asleep. Henry Winning who 
sat opposite the lady, folded his arms and probably courted 
repose also. In a few minutes Mrs. Medlicott was the only wak- 
ing person of the three ; she would probably not have slept a 
great deal under any circumstances, but in addition to her former 
anxieties about Reuben, the conversation she had just heard gave 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


115 


her fresh grounds of uneasiness upon his account. Towards 
morning, however, she yielded a little to slumber herself, for ma- 
ternal solicitude will sometimes nod as well as the father of 
poetry, and when she awoke she was the only passenger in the 
coach. She reached Westbury greatly fatigued, on the evening 
of the second day of her journey, from which it may safely be 
inferred that England was not covered with railways at the period 
of our story, as it is in the days we live in. 

Reuben was still seriously ill, but had already been pronounced 
out of danger. The sleep in which his mother found him, when 
she first entered his room, would alone have satisfied her that he 
had got through the worst of the attack. She knelt down at the 
side of his bed, and thanked Heaven for his preservation ; then 
went down to the library to write immediately to her husband, 
and in the library she found Dr. Page. He was standing gazing 
at the circles and figures which still remained on the floor where 
Reuben had traced them, and Mrs. Reeves was at his elbow mak- 
ing an ineffectual attempt to explain the doctrines of judicial 
astrology. 

As Mrs. Medlicott was accustomed to country doctors, she was 
less surprised at Dr. Page’s exterior than if she had spent her life 
in London. You might have taken him for a farmer, or a horse- 
jockey, but he was as little like a doctor as possible, unless indeed 
the veterinary art was his branch of the profession. He was a 
short, florid, confident man, with a good expression of counte- 
nance, but forward and blunt manners ; it was his dress, however, 
that would have led you astray as to his profession, for he wore 
a short green coat with gilt buttons, waistcoat and breeches of 
white cord, a crimson silk cravat, and gaiters of yellow buckskin 
which came up to his knees — a costume which nobody surely 
would adopt at a masquerade if he intended to impersonate a 
physician. However, as “ honour peereth through the meanest 
habit,” so do knowledge and skill through any habiliments, how- 
ever singular ; and Dr. Page had not been five minutes in com- 
pany with Mrs. Medlicott before he convinced her that he was a 
man of sense and experience, whose confidence in himself was 
not without good grounds, though perhaps a little too osten- 
tatious. 

“Madam,” said Page, making a low and too flourishing 
obeisance to the lady as she entered, “ I should have been most 
happy to have saved you the fatigue of your long journey, blit 
that was out of my power. I did my best, with the assistance of 


116 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 

Mrs. Reeves, to make your trouble superfluous, but you won’t be 
displeased with us for that, particularly when I have the pleasure 
of adding that we have succeeded in our endeavours, and that 
your amiable, talented, and accomplished son has decidedly turned 
the comer.” 

“Believe me, sir,” said Mrs. Medlicott, “my husband and I 
will never forget your services to our dear boy upon this occasion. 
Under Heaven we are indebted to you for his life ; but unless I 
could make you conceive all a mother’s feelings, I should fail to 
convey all a mother’s gratitude. !’ 

“ I have had the greater pleasure, ” replied the Doctor, “ in 
affording your son the benefit of such little skill as I possess, be- 
cause, from what Mrs. Reeves informs me, I am inclined to believe 
that I had formerly the pleasure of enjoying his father’s friendship.” 

“ My husband was struck by the name of Page, ” said Mrs. 
Medlicott ; “I am delighted indeed to find that you are his old 
acquaintance and schoolfellow. ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” rejoined the rural doctor, “Page and Medli- 
cott were Pylades and Orestes ; his vocation was the cure of souls, 
mine was the cure of bodies ; we took different courses ; he sailed 
east, and I sailed west ; but he was the wiser fellow of the two, 
for he had the sense and the taste to pick up a companion on his 
voyage, and I must say he could not have made a discreeter choice.” 

Mrs. Medlicott was too weary to do more than smile languidly 
in reply to this, while she threw herself into the nearest chair. 
The Doctor took the hint, became practical in a moment, apolo- 
gised for having kept her standing so long, prescribed a cup of 
tea and an early bed, and after giving some brief directions to 
Mrs. Reeves, made another flourishing bow and took his leave for 
the night. 

It was a short illness, but a tedious convalescence. Several 
weeks elapsed before Reuben’s strength was restored even enough 
to enable him to walk down with his mother to the farm-yard, 
and give her the details of the conflagration. The Dean had 
gone to Switzerland immediately after his wedding. He was at 
Frankfort when the news reached him of the memorable manner 
in which his grandson had celebrated his nuptials ; and whether 
it was that distance made him less sensitive to the loss he sus- 
tained, or that his young wife softened his feelings, or that the 
damage was covered by a fair insurance, he surprised everybody 
by the patience with which he bore the consequences of Reuben’s 
indiscretion. 


OR, THE CUMING MAN. 117 

a If it liad been the library,” said the Dean, “I never should 
have forgiven him.” 

This was the harshest observation he made, or, tt least, the 
harshest that was reported in England. From one of Mrs. Wynd- 
ham’s letters, it appeared that he was sometimes even jocular upon 
the subject, and observed that his grandson had very early begun 
to illuminate the world. 

If Mrs. Medlicott was not surprised at the popularity of Reu- 
ben with everybody at Westbury, it must at all events have de- 
lighted her. Wherever she went she heard nothing but the 
praises of his amiable disposition, and his various talents and ac- 
complishments. She received congratulations from everybody on 
being the mother of such a clever son. It was the universal 
opinion that there had never been such a wonderful patient, such 
a wonderful fever, or such a wonderful recovery. The young 
carpenter and the sentimental glazier took care to throw them- 
selves in her way, and give vent to their feelings ; while Dorothy, 
the gardener’s daughter, with her flowers and fruits, Jenny of the 
dairy, with her creams, and Molly, the sub-henwife, with her 
new-laid eggs, more than satisfied Mrs. Medlicott that Reuben 
stood as well as it was desirable that any young man should stand 
with his fellow creatures of the softer sex. Finally, Dr. Page pro- 
nounced the highest possible eulogium upon our accomplished 
hero, — 

“Madam,” said he to Mrs. Medlicott, “until I knew your son, 
I always thought myself a cleverer man than my patients, but, 
by Jove, since I have attended him, I have come to the conclu- 
sion that the patient is a cleverer fellow than the doctor. He 
talks like an angel, ma’am ; by Jove he does. He’ll astonish the 
world some of those days. ” 

“I do so wish you were settled in our neighbourhood, Dr. 
Page, ” replied the gratified mother. 

“You would see a great deal of me at the Vicarage, madam, 
if I were, ” replied the Doctor. 

“We could never see too much, sir,” said the lady ; “but per- 
haps, when my husband comes to take us home, which, now that 
Reuben is so strong, will be in a few days, he will be able to in- 
duce you to accompany us back to Underwood, and pay us a 
short visit.” 

“ That I shall do with pleasure, madam,” said the Doctor ; 
“ but until your husband arrives, I must insist upon your being 
my guest, for I perceive that the painters are approaching this 


118 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS I 


side of the house, and the smell of the paint would not acceler- 
ate my young friend’s recovery.” 

“We are very thankful to you, indeed,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 

“Not at all,” said Page, “ I am only prescribing sweet air for 
you ; you will find my bachelor’s house fresh and clean at all 
events ; only tell your son not to expect such a library as he has 
here, for I have only three books in the world, — a Bible, a Shaks- 
peare, and the Pliarmocopceia.” 


CHAPTER IH. 

A BOLD STROKE FOR A DINNER. HOW THE APOTHECARY GOT BACK TO 

THE VICARAGE, AND HOW HE TURNED THE VICAR OUT OF IT. 

Mrs. Medlicott had very little notion of the state of things at 
the Vicarage when she was inviting Dr. Page to pay her a visit. 
The Pigwidgeons seemed to have been placed by Providence in 
the parish of Underwood to be the plague of the Vicar’s life ; for 
as to his wife she was no more to be pitied than people in gen- 
eral are who bring their own troubles on themselves. 

For a considerable time after his wife left him the Vicar t - v 
little or nothing of his friend the apothecary. In nourishing Lts 
resentment so long, Mr. Pigwidgeon was probably not more in- 
fluenced by his wounded feelings, than by the consideration that 
during the serious illness of Reuben, and the absence of the mo- 
ther of the family, there was likely to be a suspension, or at least 
a marked diminution of the good cheer which no man loved bet- 
ter than he did, when it was not at his own expense. Once or twice 
during this period, Mr. Medlicott met Pigwidgeon about the neigh- 
bourhood accompanied by two dumpy red-faced daughters of his, 
treasures which the Vicar knew the apothecary possessed, for he 
had christened them, but he had scarcely ever seen them since 
that ceremony, the young ladies having been at an economical 
school in Yorshire, from which they were now just returned. No- 
thing could well be colder than Mr. Pigwidgeon was upon these 
occasions ; his voice was husky when he enquired for Reuben, 
and he looked as bitter as if it would have been a satisfaction to 
him to have heard of some serious mistake made by Dr. Page in 
bis treatment of the case. The Vicar was, indeed, beginning to 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


119 


think that the breach was irreparable ; sometimes he would. re- 
proach himself with having unnecessarily wounded the self-love 
of an old acquaintance; then again he would sum up, as he 
worked in his garden, or sat at his solitary meals, the advantages 
and disadvantages of Mr. Pigwidgeon’s friendship, the balance be- 
ing always of a nature to console him under the apprehension of 
having offended past reconciliation. 

While he was musing on this very point one morning after his 
breakfast, walking about his garden, he heard a smart tap at the 
green door in the hedge. Opening it with reasonable haste, he 
found that his visitor was the Rural Dean of his district, who 
was on his tour of inspection, and who made it a rule to dine at 
Underwood whenever he came there — a rule which Mr. Barber ex- 
tended to most of the parsonages which he visited in his peregri- 
nations. The Vicar was a hospitable little fellow to the extent 
of his means, even when he was in mental trouble, as he was at 
present ; accordingly, after the transaction of some trilling busi- 
ness with Mr. Barber, he went through the usual and expected 
formality of inviting him to dinner, adding that there was a bed 
for him also, if it would suit his convenience to accept it. These 
preliminaries settled, Mr. Medlicott begged his guest to excuse him 
during a short absence, and after warning his cook-maid that in- 
creased activity would be necessary that day in her province, he 
sallied forth into the village to provide the things needful, and to 
pick up, if he could, a couple more guests to make the party a 
square one. lie had not gone far before he met one of the 
churchwardens, a farmer of the better class, with whom he was 
on friendly terms, and he booked him without much difficulty, 
for the farmer having a termagant wife never spent an evening at 
home when he could avoid it. Now, if only a fourth could be 
found, all would be right. The Vicar first called on the lawyer 
of the village, but he was engaged to an election dinner at Chi- 
chester. 

“That’s unlucky,” said Mr. Medlicott. 

“ Very unlucky for me,” said the lawyer, “I would a thou- 
sand times rather dine with your reverence upon bacon and beans 
than with those noisy fellows in Chichester upon turtle and ven- 
ison.” 

The Vicar was a simple man, but he did not implicitly believe 
this strong assertion nevertheless. However, he thanked the 
lawyer for the civil speech, and proceeded elsewhere in search of 
what he wanted. It is highly probable there were several people 


120 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


that morning in the parish who would gladly have- profited by 
Mr. Medlicott’s hospitable intentions, had it pleased Providence 
to throw them in his way, but it was otherwise ordered ; so that 
the Vicar at length made up his mind for an odd number, and 
turned his attention to the necessary provision for them. Attended 
by a boy carrying a hand-basket, he went to and fro in the vil- 
lage, until the basket was nearly as full as it could conveniently 
hold of the various articles which he considered proper for a plain, 
substantial, pastoral dinner, and which his own small farm did 
not supply. During these marketing transactions he had to pass 
and repass the apothecary’s house repeatedly, but the numerous 
phials in the windows, with the coloured globes, would have pre- 
vented him from distinguishing anybody in the shop, had he 
been ever so desirous to do so. The same obstructions, however, 
did not prevent Mr. Pigwidgeon from accurately observing every 
motion of the Vicar ; and he observed them the more accurately 
on account of the contents of the basket, which became more 
interesting every moment, as they increased in variety and bulk. 
The basket, indeed, was of such a construction as to afford too 
clear a view of the good things deposited in it, amongst which a 
fat goose and a leg of Southdown mutton fascinated the apothe- 
cary particularly. There must certainly be something in good 
cheer and hospitable preparations, which melts the human heart 
and disposes it to kindly feelings, for unquestionably the good 
Vicar with his basket of provisions had not passed more than two 
or three times before Mr. Pigwidgeon’s, when his breast began 
wonderfully to relent towards his old friend, and he commenced 
examining himself for the first time, whether he had not been too 
hasty in taking huff at a hasty word, uttered too at a moment 
when the poor Vicar was agitated by the news of his only child’s 
dangerous illness. In a very few moments (so rapidly did the ice 
melt when the thaw had once set in), the apothecary had so far 
got the better of the paltry little grudge which he had been 
cherishing towards the Medlicotts, that he felt not only prepared 
to resume convivial relations with them, but actually conceived 
the idea of seizing the earliest opportunity of putting that truly 
Christian principle into practice. In short, he figured to himself 
a charming little love-feast, consisting of the fat goose and the 
joint of Southdown which he had seen, eked out with other 
toothsome additions which he was well able to fancy. In this 
tender frame of mind he made the circuit of his counter, dis- 
played his slovenly person at his shop-door just as the Vicar went 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


121 


out of sight, returning home after completing his purchases. 
There the apothecary stood musing for nearly a quarter of an 
hour, leaning against one of the posts, debating with himself what 
steps he should take, and also whether the dinner in contempla- 
tion was to he given that very day, or on some succeeding one. 
At length a sudden thought seemed to seize him, for he withdrew 
hastily, and appeared instantly again with his broad-brimmed, 
slouched white hat on. Beyond a doubt ( judging from his well- 
known habits) he was going to the butcher’s or the poulterer’s to 
file a bill of discovery to ascertain the day fixed for the cooking 
of the goose and the mutton. But a certain phenomenon of a 
meteoric kind, partly terrestrial and partly celestial, saved him the 
trouble of making the inquiry. This was a spiral column of deep 
blue smoke which began at that very moment to ascend over the 
trees in the direction of the Vicarage, the bearings of which the 
apothecary knew as well as if he had taken an Ordnance survey 
of the parish. Nay, he knew the smoke at once to be that of the 
kitchen chimney, so nice an observer was he, for this was not the 
first time that similar indications over the same trees had deter- 
mined his course of proceedings for the day. No time was to be 
lost. Mr. Pigwidgeon struck a bold stroke for a dinner. 

The Vicar’s dinner-hour was five o’clock, and at a little before 
four, as he and his brother parson were sauntering about, talking 
of tithes and dilapidations, and sometimes of better things, he was 
not a little surprised by the arrival of Mr. Pigwidgeon’s appren- 
tice with a present of a fresh trout from that gentleman, accom- 
panied with a message to the effect that he had been prevented 
by his professional engagements from calling at the Vicarage for 
some time, but he would look in the first evening he had an hour 
to spare, as he was most anxious to hear from Mr. Medlicott’s own 
lips the latest account of his son. The Vicar was trapped. There 
seemed to him no alternative but to accept the present, or come 
to actual daggers-drawn ; and to have eaten the trout without 
inviting the giver to partake of it would have been against all 
Mr. Medlicott’s notions of the fitness of things. Besides, he bore 
no ill-will to the apothecary, although inclined to despise him, 
and finally he wanted somebody to make a fourth at dinner, a 
point which was the more important in his eyes, as his table was 
a square one. 

Mr. Pigwidgeon was invited, after which it was needless to 
say that Mr. Pigwidgeon came ; and it was something like get- 
ting in the end of a wedge, for the apothecary had no sooner 
6 


122 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


arrived and 1 3-established himself in his old position at the Vicar- 
age, than he made a push and a successful one to introduce his 
dumpy daughters, the pretext being that in Mrs. Medlicott’s 
absence they would be useful in the evening to make tea for the 
party. In yielding this point the Vicar made a mistake which 
he veiy soon deeply regretted, yet what else could he well have 
done ? The Misses Pig svidgeon were sent for, and ere the dinner 
was half over they were seen waddling up the principal walk of 
the garden, approaching the house in muslin frocks, prettily spot- 
ted with peonies, and eveiy now and then dropping into the form 
of cheeses, or rounds of beef, to pick the gooseberries or currants, 
just as a pair of ducks, though bent on a journey to the pond, 
will halt every now and then to gobble up a snail in the grass. 
“ My poor girls,” cried the apothecary with paternal rapture ; he 
was seated so as to have a full view of the corpulent nymphs to 
whom he was so nearly related. The churchwarden, who was 
the gayest of the party, paid broad compliments to their personal 
charms, although he could only see them over his shoulder. As 
to the Vicar and the Rural Dean, they were content with the 
side-long prospects their places afforded them, and took a glass 
of port together, while the apothecary was recounting to the 
farmer the gifts and accomplishments of his girls. After all, it 
was the churchwarden and Mr. Pigwidgeon who redeemed the 
dinner from stupidity ; for though neither was a pleasant fellow 
himself, the collision between them, as it often happens, proved a 
source of some little amusement. The convention having 
casually turned upon domestic arrangements, the farmer began 
talking of his house, and the apothecary must do the same. 

“ You know my house,” said Mr. Pigwidgeon. 

“ I know the outside of it,” said the churchwarden. 

The Vicar and the Rural Dean looked at one another, and 
both enjoyed the visible elongation of the apothecary’s already 
sufficiently long face. 

“Well, Pigwidgeon,” continued the churchwarden, “now 
your daughters are come home to take care of you, you will be 
showing your friends the inside of your house some of these 
days.” 

“ Aye,” said Pigwidgeon, wiggling in his chair, and making 
a vigorous effort to look good-humoured, “ we must soon be think- 
ing of doing something to keep the house warm.” 

“The besf way of doing that is by keeping good fries in the 
kitchen,” said Mr. Barber ; “ I look upon the kitchen as the heart 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


123 


of the house, and I n-ced not tell a gentleman of Mr. Pigwidg- 
ecn’s profession the importance of keeping up the caloric in that 
region.” 

“ Pigwidgeon” said the farmer, “ you must not let it be said 
you have a cold heart, which you see his reverence considers as 
bad as a cold kitchen.” 

The apothecary again tried to laugh ; but made the worst 
attempt possible. 

“ There is not a more hospitable fellow alive than I am,” he 
said, “ or one that loves more to have his friends about him, but 
the misfortune of my profession is, that it leaves a man no time 
to think of hospitality ; sometimes not a moment even to get a 
comfortable bit of dinner.” 

“ That’s a very hard case,” said the churchwarden, with af- 
fected commiseration. 

“ There is no doubt,” said Mr. Barber, benevolently coming 
«# Mr. Pigwidgeon’s rescue, “ there are many men so situated, 
either professionally or domestically, that they are not in a posi- 
tion to be as social and convivial in their own houses as they 
would wish to be. Sometimes a man is very hospitable and 
generous himself, but is cursed with an unsocial or stingy wife.” 

“ Or he may have a sickly family,” added the Vicar, thinking 
of the apothecary’s vigorous brood of children. 

“However,” pursued Mr. Barber, “what I was coming to is 
this, that there are two ways fortunately of being social and con- 
vivial ; one is being convivial at home, which means giving din- 
ners, and the other is being convivial abroad, which means ac- 
centing them.” 

“ A just view of hospitality,” said the Vicar, smiling, “ and a 
classical one, being strictly in harmony with the two senses of the 
Latin word hospes , which signifies guest as well as host.” 

“I don’t understand Latin and Greek,” said the blunt church- 
warden, “ but I hope I understand plain English, and my notion 
is that a man ought not to dine with his friends and neighbours 
if he can’t or won’t entertain them in return.” 

Here Mr. Barber, observing that the farmer’s tone was seri- 
ous, while himself and the Vicar had been only jocular, and re- 
marking also that Mr. Pigwidgeon was sore at the turn the con- 
versation had taken, rose from the table and gave Mr. Medlicott’s 
proposition of another bottle a decided negative. 

The Vicar himself was relieved by the adjournment to the 
tea-table. Orly one of the fair Pigwidgeons was there. The 


124 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


otter, it appeared, had been taken suddenly ill, and had retired 
to another room. The apothecary hastened to see her, and soon 
returned, saying that it was nothing serious ; she would be well 
presently and able to walk home. When tea was over, Mr. Pig- 
widgeon went up again, and the other sister with him. He now 
was absent for about a quarter of an hour, and when he came 
back it was to announce that his daughter was rather seriously 
indisposed, and that he feared he must trespass on the Vicar’s 
goodness to allow her to remain where she was just for the night. 
It was only common humanity to accede to such a request, but 
the consciousness of that virtue was Mr. Medlicott’s only reward, 
for before he was out of bed the next morning, Mr. Pigwidgeon 
came to inform him that his poor girl was in a very bad way, 
though whether it would end in scarletina or small-pox he had 
not yet formed a decisive opinion. It proved to be malignant 
scarletina, and no sooner did one sister begin to recover than the 
other thought proper to catch the same complaint ; nor was this 
all, for the young doctor, who had been absent for some days 
previous, quartered himself at the Vicarage on his return in the 
capacity of resident physician, so that the Vicar now saw his 
house in the absolute possession of the Pigwidgeons, and turned 
into a regular infirmary. 

Luckily, this unpleasant occurrence took place just at the 
moment when it was proper for him to set out for Westbury, but 
he must have gone on his travels under any circumstances, for he 
was nervous on the score of infection, and to have remained at 
home would probably have endangered his life. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A FEW PLEASANT DATS WITH THE DOCTOR. — REUBEN PEOEIVES 
THE HONOURS OF A PRIMA DONNA, AND THE WHOLE PARTY SET 
OUT ON A TOUR. 

“ It will cost you a barrel of vinegar and a ton of potash, at the 
very least,” said Dr. Page ; “ I recollect that Pigwidgeon well. 
When I commenced life as physician to one of the London hos- 
pitals, he was the manager and resident apothecary there. We 
quarrelled originally on the subjects of ventilation and ablution. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


125 


The governors sided with me ; and the cause of cleanliness tri- 
umphed in my person over Pigwidgeon and the opposite prin- 
ciple. There was a case of moral dirt against him also — jobbing 
in drugs and wine for the patients — you understand me — I might 
have pressed the charge if I had wished to ruin him, but I was 
as merciful as I was strong ; so I gave the poor devil the alterna- 
tive of resigning his place, or being exposed and probably pros- 
ecuted ; he resigned and settled in your neighbourhood, it 
seems; probably because he heard your larders and cellars well 
spoken of.” 

“ That accounts,” said the Vicar, “ for the feeling he displayed 
when he heard your name mentioned.” 

“ Oh, he hates me as he hates soap and water,” said the Doctor. 

“ He has turned us out of our house at all events,” said the 
Vicar; “I don’t expect to be settled there again for three 
weeks.” 

“ Not for twice that time,” said Dr. Page, “ independently of 
the fear of infection. By Jove, a wise man in your circumstances 
would burn the house down ; there’s a young gentleman yonder 
would do it in no time.” 

This was a pleasant hit at Reuben, who was lying reading 
on a sofa at some distance, after returning from one of his first 
walks. 

“ What are you reading, my dear?” asked his mother, who 
had just finished a letter to Mrs. Wyndham, to acquaint her with 
the improvement in Reuben’s health. 

“ Shakspeare, or the Pharmacopoeia ?” added the Doctor. 

“‘I do remember an apothecary,’” said Reuben, smiling and 
holding up the play of “ Romeo and Juliet.” 

“I believe,” said the Vicar, “there is something in Shr " • 
.are pat to every subject one can talk of.” 

“ A very just observation,” said the Doctor ; “ I have of; - 
made it myself ; only the other day I prescribed for a patient 
out of Henry the Fourth. I’ll tell you about it. An old lady, a 
neighbour and patient of mine, was plaguing me lately about her 
complaints (all imagination, you must know) : Well, madam, 
said I, how do you feel to-day ? She said she felt — she didn’t 
know how she felt — at last she said .she felt hurt inside. Try 
parmaceti, ma’am, said I. Spermaceti ! said she ; sure that’s only 
applied externally. Then you know better than Dr. Shakspeare, 
said I, for he tells you, ‘ there’s nought like parmaceti for an in- 
ward bruise,’ ” 


126 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


“Very pleasant,” said the Vicar, “if you didn’t lose your 
patient by your joke.” 

“No great loss, if I did lose her,” replied the Doctor; “she 
was a bad patient ; she had none of the virtues of a patient, not 
a single one of them.” 

“ I never before heard of those ^ irtues,” said Mr. Medlicott ; 
“ pray enumerate them.” 

“ If you consider a moment,” said the Doctor, “ you will see 
that several excellent qualities are necessary to make a good pa- 
tient ; candour in the first place, — a patient must be perfectly 
candid with his physician, or how can the physician understand 
his case ? Then obedience ; he must be thoroughly obedient, or 
what is the use of prescribing for him ? Faith comes next, un- 
bounded confidence in his doctor’s skill, or the pills and potions 
won’t do their duty, for medicine works morally as well as physi- 
cally, let me tell you. The moment I find a patient either de- 
ceiving me, disobeying me, or doubting me, I leave him to the 
quacks and Pig widgeons.” 

“Your list of virtues is far from complete,” said the Vicar; 
“ methinks you have omitted two very important ones — gratitude 
and generosity.” 

“ As to gratitude,” said the Doctor, “ I hold that to be a vir- 
tue as incumbent on the physician in a great many cases, as on 
the patient, — if my young friend here (for example) is grateful 
to me for doing my best to bring him round, I am no less grate- 
ful to him for the opportunity of making his acquaintance, and 
renewing my old friendship with his worthy father.” 

With this civil speech on his lips, the Doctor went to his cel- 
lar, to bring up an old bottle of wine to treat his old friend with, 
for it was near dinner time. 

“ I am inclined to think,” said the Vicar to his wife, “ though 
the doctor and patient may divide the gratitude, the former will 
insist upon having the virtue of generosity all to himself.” 

“ What do you propose to do?” said Mrs. Medlicott; “I sup- 
pose you will offer him a suitable sum of money.” 

“ I’ll follow the golden rule,” replied the Vicar, after a mo- 
ment’s deliberation. “ I would not like to have money offered 
ine by an old friend myself, and I’ll treat Page as I should wish 
to be treated by him.” 

“It would be a golden rule, indeed, father,” said Reuben, “if 
we could often make such advantageous applications of it.” 

“ I think so, Reuben,” said his mother, highly pleased at hex 
son’s acute observation. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


127 


The following morning came letters to every body from every 
body else. Reuben had three, one from Hyacinth Primrose, an- 
other from his aun% Mrs. Mountjoy, who was in Scotland, and a 
third from Mrs. Wjndham, at Geneva, playfully subscribed “his 
loving grandmamma.” Mrs. Medlicott had a very long letter 
from her friend Theodore, and her husband a communication 
from the apothecary, both coolly dated from the Vicarage, and 
giving the minutest details of the progress of the interesting pa- 
tients, what medicines they w r ere taking, how many blisters had 
been applied to each, how the father and son had differed once 
or twdce on questions between the leech and the lancet, and how 
Rose was expected to be the first of the two ladies to leave her 
chamber. 

“ The apothecary’s Rose,” said the Vicar. 

“ I think,” said Dr. Page, “ the other girl might appropriately 
be called Scarletina.” 

Reuben smiled ; he never made a pun himself, but he some- 
times graciously encouraged that weakness in others. 

Breakfast over, the Doctor went about his professional avoca- 
tions, which were very extensive, and left his friends to dispose 
of themselves at their pleasure until evening. The Medlicotts 
had business to transact also. A very important matter was set- 
tled that morning, namely, Reuben’s preferment to Cambridge in 
the autumn, and that having been agreed on, the Vicar thought 
a quiet economical tour in Wales would for the present be the 
best thing they could do. 

“Let us hear what the Doctor says,” said Mrs. Medlicott, 
when the dinner hour came round again. 

“ The Doctor thinks very w r ell of it,” said Page, “ if he can- 
not induce you to stay where you are, but there must be no long 
marches, and no climbing after Cadwallader and his goats.” 

“ We shall only creep,” said the Vicar; “is there any chance 
of your creeping with us ?” 

“I have a mind to join you,” said the Doctor ; “ T think my 
young friend is not strong enough yet to travel without his phy- 
sician, and by-the-bye, I have got a little carriage, which I think 
will hold us all comfortably, four inside and one on the box.” 

An early day w'as fixed, and the interval was agreeably spent ; 
Reuben took his father over to Westbury, to pay his respects to 
Mrs. Reeves, and to show him the place where the great liay-rick 
Btood no longer. 

The Vicar had now an oppoitunity of hearing repeated all 


128 


THE UN VERSAL GENIUS , 


the flattering things of his son, which Mrs. Medlicott had heard 
before, and though he was not so fondly credulous as his wife, it 
would be underrating paternal vanity to suppose that he was not 
pleased on the whole w r ith the vox populi. When it was an- 
nounced that Reuben was on the point of starting on a Welch 
tour, the effect produced was nearly as electric as if he had 
been going up in a balloon, or out in the “ Ilecla” with Captain 
Parry. 

The great proof, however, of the popularity which our hero 
had earned by his music, his astrology, and his good-nature, was 
reserved for the day which was fixed for leaving the neighbour- 
hood. The Doctor’s carriage, as it stood at his door, was sur- 
rounded with the people from Westbury, all waiting to see Reu- 
ben for the last time, and give him and his parents a parting 
cheer. Nor were some of them content with that easy mode of 
testifying applause and gratitude. The tradesmen had all joined 
in the expense of a neat box of carpenter’s tools, which he was 
entreated to accept, as a token of their feelings towards him. 
The blushing Dolly stood there with a basket of fruit as ripe and 
glowing as her own rustic charms, and as the carriage drove off 
amidst general hurrahs, she and the other maidens threw bou- 
quets into it, and pelted him with flowers like a Prima Donna. 

“This is too absurd,” said the Vicar, receiving a volley of 
cabbage roses upon one of his ears. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE MEDT.ICOTTS ON TIIEIK TRAVELS. — BEUBEN BUYS A WELCH GRAM- 
MAR. MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A WELCH BARD, AND FALLS 
IN WITH SOME FAIR FRIENDS. 

% 

The tour in the Principality was a very agreeable one, though 
not so easy and comfortable in point of travelling as it is at pre- 
sent. When Reuben Medlicott first visited North Wales, that 
mountainous region was not quite as easily traversible as the fens 
of Lincolnshire or Salisbury Plain. The roads climbed the hills 
and ran down again'into the valleys : for one mile of dull straight 
route there were twenty of charming zig-zag. Far from shrink- 
ing fl un the edges of ravines and precipices, the wild Cambrian 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


129 


engineers seemed to delight in conducting travellers to them. 
As to the by-ways, they appeared to have been constructed by the 
goats and sheep ; and there were numerous glens, gorges, hollows, 
and passes, which you may now penetrate in a Bath chair, if you 
please, but through which you must then have travelled on horse- 
back or on foot, if you were not content to imagine their beauties. 

The Vicar and the Doctor, being both advanced on the shady 
side of fifty, affected to have very lively fancies when they came 
to romantic places of this description ; but neither Mrs. Medlicott 
nor her son were so imaginative. It was easy to say that moun- 
tains have all a family likeness, and that one valley must bear a 
striking resemblance to another, as the elements of all mountain 
scenery must generally be pretty much the same : Reuben had no 
notion of travelling through Wales without actually and tho- 
roughly seeing it ; and his mother took the same view of the 
matter, modified only' by her prudent consideration for her son’s 
health and her respect for Doctor Page’s advice. On the score 
of health, however, there soon ceased to be any reasonable ground 
of anxiety, for the mountain air, with the novel excitement and 
delight of travelling, had such a beneficial effect on our hero, that 
after about a week’s easy progress, at the rate of about twenty 
miles a day, he felt and looked as strong as ever he had been in 
his life, while, as to his appetite, it was such as to gratify his 
father and mother more than the Cambrian inn-keepers, whose 
interest in the subject was the reverse of parental. But no host 
or hostess with a grain of amiability could look at Reuben Med- 
licott and harbour a hostile feeling towards him, because he picked 
a leg or shoulder of small mutton almost bare for his dinner. 
He was the incarnation of good-humour, and continued to make 
himself popular wherever he came, without the slightest ambition 
or thought of popularity, for you may suppose he had no sinister 
object in winning the hearts of the ancient Britons. But every- 
thing amused and interested him, and his countenance faithfully 
reflected the- happiness which he enjoyed from morning to night, 
and which increased with every new scene he visited and every 
additional mile he travelled. There was no occasion to “ bid him 
discourse.” He was always ready to “enchant the ear.” He 
talked to the Welch people, when they happened to be able to 
converse in English, as if he felt under personal obligations to them 
for having such a picturesque country, — such fine lakes, streams, 
and waterfalls. When conversation was impossible, he looked at 
them so talkatively, particularly at the women, and paid such a 
6 * 


130 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


number of sincere little silent compliments to their faces when 
they were fair, and when it was otherwise, to their costumes, their 
cottages, their children, or the scenery of their neighbourhood, 
always to something or another interesting to them, that had the 
whole Principality been one borough, and had Reuben aspired to 
represent it, his success would have been highly probable, at least 
if universal suffrage had been the system established. Mrs. Med- 
licott would gladly have understood the remarks which were made 
on her son in return for his various amenities, but her leash of 
tongues, unfortunately, did not comprehend the ancient one in 
which those remarks were generally uttered, and she was, there- 
fore, under the necessity of interpreting them by the looks and 
smiles of the speakers, which were in general quite a sufficient 
key to the meaning. 

They travelled for some days without falling in with anybody 
of whom they had the slightest knowledge, although Reuben 
turned over the pages of the travellers’ books at every inn where 
they stopped ; volumes, by-the-bye, which amused the Doctor and 
the Vicar greatly, and which they generally perused in the even- 
ings over their wine or negus. At Aberystwith, however, among 
the very latest entries, in the freshest ink, the party found, to their 
great satisfaction and no small surprise, the names of Hannah and 
Mary Hopkins, both evidently written by the hand of the latter, 
but in so hasty and scratchy a way that the Vicar had no doubt 
8he was laughing heartily while she wrote them. 

“ Hannah Hopkins in Wales at last !” cried Mrs. Medlicott. 
A trip to Wales had for many a long year been to the Quaker- 
esses the great desire of their hearts, but one which they had 
scarcely dared to dream would ever be gratified. 

“ Are they not happy ?” cried Reuben. 

u They will not leave a sprig of heath or fox-glove behind 
them in the Principality,” said the Vicar. The Quakeresses were 
wild about flowers, and the wilder the flowers were the wilder 
were the Quakeresses about them : wherever they rambled (for 
they had lived all their lives in the country) they gathered brooms 
of them, which were, indeed, the only ornaments of their humble 
apartments, except the feathers of peacocks and other domestic 
birds, of which Hannah especially was a zealous collector. 

Reuben made enquiries, and it turned out that the Hopkinses 
had left the inn only that morning ; their destination was not cer- 
tain, but it was in the direction which the Medlicotts were taking, 
so that there was a fair chance of a happy reunion at some point 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


131 


or another, — the more unexpected, the more agreeable. We have 
already mentioned how kind the Vicar always was to old Mrs. 
Hopkins. Mrs. Medlicott had a sincere regard for her also; and 
as to the cosj', laughter-loving Mary, she was a favourite every- 
where except at meeting, not being half grave enough for the 
Obadiahs and Rachaels, though she was always dressed as sadly 
and severely as any of them, which perhaps, however, only made 
the incorrigible gaiety of her nature the more conspicuous. 

Reuben was not long content to be ignorant of the language 
of the country he was traversing. At Aberystwith he bought a 
Welch grammar and vocabulary, in a neat little shop on the 
skirts of the town, at the door of which, overhung by an elm of 
great age, was a wooden bench, upon which the old bookseller, 
a seedy but venerable man, was taking his ease ; and Mr. Medli- 
cott got into chat with him, while his wife and son were bargain- 
ing for the grammar. He proved to be the parson of the parish 
as well as the librarian. The Vicar little suspecting this, had 
been asking him questions about the state of the clergy in Wales, of 
which he had heard surprising accounts, and among other enquiries 
had asked what might be the value of the parish they were then in. 

“ Twenty pounds a year,” said the old man. 

“ A small living for a man of education and a gentleman,” 
said the Vicar. 

u There are smaller in the Principality,” said the bookseller. 

“ Selling books must be a more profitable profession,” said 
Mr. Medlicott. 

“ My shop is the best part of my benefice,” said the old man. 

The Vicar went into the shop and communicated to his wife 
and Reuben the strange discovery he had made, for such it ap- 
peared to him. The purchase of the grammar had been effected, 
but they could not leave the reverend bookseller abruptly, and 
accordingly, as there was room enough on the bench, they sat 
down, at his courteous invitation, and passed an interesting half- 
hour in conversation with him. They found that he was an au- 
thor and a poet, in addition to his other kindred vocations ; he 
was too simple a man to hide any chapter of his history, and 
when Reuben questioned him about the bards and their lyric 
rhapsodies, it soon elicited the confession that in his greener days 
he had attempted a poetical translation of some of the wildest. 
Being greatly struck with Reuben, and flattered by the interest 
he felt in the bards, a member of whose sacred corporation he 
considered himself, he rose from the bench, when he saw his cus- 


132 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS | 

tomers about to take leave, and, hobbling into his shop (for he 
was infirm, though not gouty), hunted out a copy of his 44 Cam- 
brian garland,” and, with a trembling hand and a bad pen, wrote 
on the title-page — 

44 The gift of the Reverend Hugh Evans, an old poet, ,” 

he paused for our hero to tell him what he should add. 

44 To Reuben Medlicott., a lover of poetry,” said Reuben ; and 
the inscription was completed accordingly. 

“Very neat and very modest,” said the old man, as he laid 
down the pen. 

“ Modest on Reuben’s part,” said the Vicar, when they were 
at some distance from the shop. 44 I cannot say so much for the 
modesty of Mr. Evans, in dubbing himself a poet so confidently.” 

“Yet he published anonymously, you observe,” Laid Mrs. 
Medlicott. 

“Probably,” said Reuben, “when he published th.s volume 
of poems, he dreamed of afterwards producing something very 
superior, and never realised his expectations. But wh /•, sir, did 
you not let the poor old gentleman know that you we»e o cler- 
gyman, like himself?” 

44 Because he had told me his income, and he might have 
desired to know mine.” 

44 You need not to have been ashamed of it, father.” 

“No,” said the Vicar, smiling, “two hundred a year is no- 
thing to be ashamed of, but the Reverend Hugh Evans would 
have concluded me to be a second Dives, and the report might 
have reached the inn, and influenced the landlord in drawing out 
his bill.” 

Before he left Aberystwith, Reuben took a very good sketch 
of the little book-shop, the ancient tree, and the group under it, 
the old man himself being, of course, the principal figure. The 
union of the pastoral and poetical character with the humble 
though congenial business of bookseller was skilfully managed ; at 
least, so thought those eminently impartial judges, the father and 
mother of the artist. But, indeed, Mrs. Hopkins and her daugh- 
ter recognised the likeness the moment they saw the drawing, 
for at Barmouth the Medlicotts overtook them. The Doctor, who 
had been visiting an hospital, while the Medlicotts were visiting 
the bookseller, was not pleased when he saw the Welch gram- 
mar: he thought study of any kind unseasonable on an excursion 
of pleasure. But the name of the bookseller pleased him exces- 
sively when he heard it, for he was the first of the party to re- 
member the pedagogue in 44 The Merry Wives of Windsor.” 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


133 


“By Jove,” said Doctor Page, in great glee, “if the book- 
seller is so very old as you say, perhaps he is the very man who 
taught a distinguished ancestor of mine his hig, hag , hog? 

“ Aye,” said the Vicar, “you bear a Shakspearian name also.” 

“ And very proud I am of it, I assure you,” said the Doctor. 

Proceeding from Aberystwith to the Goat Inn at Barmouth, 
they were at breakfast the morning after their arrival, in a little 
room, looking out upon the sands, and adjoining another with 
the same aspect, but separated from them by too thin a partition 
to render it safe to speak in a loud tone, particularly if you wero 
maligning your neighbours, or speaking ill of the powers that be. 
Voices were audible in the next apartment, which gave rise to 
some speculation as to the speakers, but presently rang out the 
merry laugh of the young Quakeress, which removed all doubt 
upon the subject. In five minutes the two breakfasts were con- 
solidated, and Hannah Hopkins was telling the Vicar a long 
story to explain how the great object of her life, an excursion in 
North Wales, came to be realised, just when she and Mary were 
beginning to despair of ever accomplishing it. 

The tourists, now a party of six, were not long without con- 
certing a very nice plan of operations, for that day and several to 
follow it. But when breakfast was over, it was raining, and it 
rained very doggedly for several successive days. 

The Vicar and his friend sat down equally doggedly to back- 
gammon, Mrs. Medlicott had brought a volume of metaphysical 
sermons with her from her father’s library ; Hannah Hopkins 
was soon engrossed by her everlasting knitting ; Reuben and 
Mary had no resource but the Welch grammar, and to it they 
went spiritedly in a corner. 

“ The climate is in your favour,” said the Doctor to Reuben, 
during a pause in the game, upon the third day of the captivity 
at the Goat. 

“Is the grammar difficult?” asked the Vicar, — “vowels 
scarce, consonants plenty, eh !” 

“ Now don’t set Mary Hopkins going,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 

“ Friend Thomas always makes my Mary laugh,” said old 
Hannah, looking gravely up from her needle. 

“ Not to say difficult, not as difficult as some other langua- 
ges,” said Reuben, replying to his father’s question. “ At least 
there is no difficulty to stop us.” 

“ It would be too bad to be stopped by the elements both 
ndoors and out rf doors,” said the Vicar. 


134 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ) 


Mary lauglied again, — and again the old woman raised her 
eyes solemnly from her work, but this time she addressed the 
Doctor. 

“ Dost thou consider laughing wholesome, friend Page ?” she 
inquired. 

“ I never had a patient that died of it,” replied Page, rattling 
the dice. 

Mrs. Medlicott now pretended that she could not read, her 
husband and the doctor were so facetious, but the fact was (and 
her husband suspected it shrewdly) that the sermon was beyond 
her depth, and she was glad of an excuse to lay it down. 

The back-gammon ceased soon after they had played two- 
and-twenty hits ; it was time to think of luncheon. 

The name of Jones was on the spoons. Mary Hopkins had 
teen laughing all through the Principality, at the fertility of the 
race of Jones. 

“ What a remarkable name it is,” said the Vicar, — “ There is 
Inigo, the great architect; Sir William Jones, the orientalist; 
Paul, the celebrated pirate ; Tom, the hero of the great novel.” 

“ Don’t forget Davy,” said the Doctor. 

“ Davy of the navy,” said the Vicar. 

“ But Tom and Davy are ideal personages,” said Mrs. Med- 
licott. 

“ Davy an ideal personage !” cried the Doctor, “ I am sorry 
to hear a clergyman’s wife broach such a heresy.” 

“ Heresy reminds me of fire,” said the Vicar, “ go, Reuben, 
and order one to be lighted.” 

While Reuben was absent there was a little dry altercation 
between Mr. and Mrs Medlicott about the necessity for the fire. 

“ The fire would not be lighted half-an-hour before he would 
wish it extinguished again, and then, a fire at midsummer was 
so ridiculous.” 

“ It was better to be too warm than too cold,” was the Vicar’s 
rejoinder. 

“ It was like madness ordering a fire at that season of the 
year.” 

“ The thermometer, my dear, ought to decide the question, 
and not the almanac.” 

For once he had the last word. 

Mrs. Medlicott, however, rose from her seat, which was near 
the fire-place, and removed with great state and dignity to a 
chair at the window, where, after trying to no purpose to pene- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


135 


trate the mystery of the hills through the clouds of vapour that 
shrouded them, she put on her spectacles, and made a similar 
effort at the Welch grammar, with not much greater success. 
As a last resource, she undertook a phrenological survey of the 
heads of the company, which occupied a considerable time, and 
would have occupied more, if the Doctor had not adroitly slipped 
out of the room, before his turn came, and, wet as it was, set out 
to explore the medical institutions. 


CHAPTER VL 

HE NUT WINNING AND HYACINTH PRIMROSE JOIN THE EXPEDITION. 

Meanwhile Reuben gave the order to a smiling maid at the 
bar, who passed it to a maid in the kitchen, where a numerous 
group, composed of travellers, servants, postboys, harpers, and 
miscellaneous hangers-on were collected in a confused circle 
round a capital fire; the travellers desirous of drying their 
clothes, and all clearly of opinion (in direct opposition to Mrs. 
Medlicott) that the heat of the dog-days in Great Britain occa- 
sionally stands in need of some artificial reinforcement. “ A fire 
for No. 3,” said Peggy Roberts. 

“ His reverence is chilly,” said somebody from the chimney- 
corner. 

“ One of your country parsons, I suppose,” said a young 
man, one of those who were trying to dry themselves. 

“ No, sir, an English gentleman,” said Peggy Roberts. 

4 ‘ Parson Medligoat,” said a post-boy. 

“ Medlicott !” cried the young man who spoke before to an- 
other who was at his side ; “ can it possibly be our Medlicott ?” 

“Not very likely.” 

“ Is the parson travelling alone ?” 

“ No, sir, he.has an elderly lady and a young gentleman with 
him.” 

“ That tallies.” 

“The young gentleman, what is he like?” 

A dozen voices burst forth immediately with as many com- 
mendations of Reuben. 

He was the nicest young gentleman Peggy Roberts had ever 

seen. 


136 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS I 


“ And the civilest,” said the post-boy. 

Jenny Jones had seen as handsome, but he was as handsome 
as any young man need be, and had the beautifullest head of 
hair in the world. 

A third damsel vouched for his scholarship, for she was the 
chambermaid, and had found his room strewed over with books. 

“ Our friend, to a certainty,” said the young man who spoke 
first ; “ I wonder what can have brought the Medlicotts here ; 
one would as soon have expected to have met the Greenwich 
pensioners mountaineering it.” 

“ Come away,” said the other. 

“We are pretty well roasted, and sol- think is that quarter 
of mutton which I suspect is designed for our dinner.” 

“ I wish they had roasted the whole sheep ; the higher I rise 
above the level of the sea, the more voracious I become. I think 
I could take the altitude of the mountains by my appetite.” 

“ Do so, then, while I dine,” said Henry Winning, taking 
his seat at a table spread for them in a little room, which 
Peggy Roberts assured them commanded a magnificent prospect 
of a dozen hills, with names unpronounceable, save by Cambrian 
lips. 

“ On the contrary, dining is the basis of the calculation,” said 
Hyacinth Primrose, separating as he spoke the leg from the loin 
of the roast quarter of mutton. “ Gulliver,” he added, “ must 
have brought this breed from Lilliput. Shall I send you the 
leg? — the mutton gets smaller as we get hungrier.” 

“ No, help me to the loin ; when I have disposed of that, if 
you want any assistance to manage the leg, let me know, and I 
shall be ready to support you.” 

The loin sufficed Winning, and Primrose left very little of the 
leg to adorn the sideboard the next morning. Cheese and a 
glass of ale completed the repast. 

“In fact,” said Hyacinth, “the Welch sheep seem to be all 
lambs.” 

“Perhaps it is with mutton as with men. There are men 
who continue children all their lives.” 

“ Since we grow philosophical we way as well go and face 
Mrs. Medlicott, for I suppose it must be done.” 

“It must,” said Winning, rising reluctantly ; “ but after what 
I said in the coach that unlucky night, I have nothing to ex- 
pect but the coldest reception.” 

“You compared her to Minerva,” said Primrose; “why 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


137 


the woman must be unreasonable if she was not flattered by 
that” 

“I thought you knew the sex better” said Winning; “let a 
woman resemble Minerva ever so much, she will infinitely prefer 
an allusion to Venus or Juno. However, as you say, the thing 
must be done, so we may as well do it at once.” 

Winning wrote his own name and his friend’s on a card, and 
desired Peggy Roberts to hand it to young Mr. Medlicott. 

In a moment Reuben was in their arms, and the next moment 
the two Cambridge men were introduced to the Vicar and his 
party, with the least possible form and ceremony. Mr. and Mrs. 
Medlicott now saw Mr. Primrose for the first time, though they 
had heard a great deal about him from Reuben, who never erred 
on the side of undervaluing his friends, or praising them penuri- 
ously. 

Winning saw at a glance that his unlucky remarks in the 
coach had not yet faded from the memory of Mrs. Medlicott, al- 
though recollecting his friendship for Reuben, she was not defi- 
cient in any of the civilities, which the occasion required. She 
took no prominent part, however, for some time in the conversa- 
tion of the evening, greatly to the disappointment of Primrose. 
He had only, however, to look round the room to see that there 
was no lack of subjects for curious observation. He fastened his 
eye upon the gaunt old Quakeress in an instant ; an acquaint- 
ance with her fair fat daughter promised infinite satisfaction, even 
before he heard her laugh ; and when he heard the gentleman in 
the green coat, white buckskins, and red cravat, addressed by the 
title of Doctor, it completed his enjoyment, and gave him the no- 
tion of a cyclopaedia of entertainment. 

Mary Hopkins made good tea ; or if it was not good it was 
the fault of Jones, Roberts, or Williams, or whatever was the 
name of the landlord of the Goat. The Vicar talked, and so did 
the rest, except the Doctor, who was dead tired after his rambles 
to escape the phrenological lecture, but nobody talked so much 
as Primrose. He was as lively as Mercutio, or Gratiano, who 
“ talked more nonsense than any man in Venice” of his time. 
He first tried to draw Mrs. Medlicott out, by touching upon the 
scientific topics of the day, but failing in that, he laid himself out 
to be generally amusing, which he had the knack of being, even 
when he talked of himself, which indeed was the subject upon 
which he was generally most fluent. 

The Vicar desired to know whether either of the Cantabs 


I 


138 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


were weather-seers ; three days in the Goat had contented him, 
and lie had had enough of the wiry music of the old harper in 
the hall, towards whom he was beginning to cherish the feelings 
that actuated the “ ruthless king.” 

Primrose affirmed that he was superior to the skyey influ- 
ences; he was above the clouds, and looked down upon the 
weather. In fact he preferred wet weather on a tour, particularly 
when he travelled with Winning, because Winning was too fond 
of the tops of the mountains for his taste. Another thing was 
that his luck in travelling was extraordinary. He was always 
sure to fall in with a charming intellectual party at every inn, 
and there was nothing like a long dismal wet day for enjoying 
their company. 

The Vicar smiled (well knowing for whom the word “ intel- 
lectual” had been thrown in), and said that fortune had, at least, 
been equally kind to himself and his friends in that respect. 

Nothing escaped the keen, comic eye of Primrose, which 
rolled about the room, and penetrated every corner, taking in 
every object, no matter how minute, that was at all characteristic 
or illustrative of the company. 

There was Mary Hopkins’s enormous broom of wild flowers, * 
containing so much of the fox-glove, or digitalis , that Hyacinth 
thought it must have been collected by the Doctor for his medi- 
cal uses. Near it lay an equally large truss of dried grasses. 
Reuben saw Primrose surveying it with intense curiosity, and in- 
formed him aside that it was a whim of Mrs. Hopkins, who was 
a collector of grasses. 

“Is she graminivorous?” whispered Hyacinth. 

“ I can tell you what that is,” said the Doctor, pointing to 
the bundle, “ it is the hay that was saved from Dean Wyndham’s 
haggard on the night it was burned down by our clever young 
friend here.” 

“My poor Reuben,” said his mother, “that will be a stand- 
ing joke against him as long as he lives.” 

“ It made us very merry in London,” said Winning. 

“ And at Cambridge it kept us in good spirits for a week,” 
said Primrose, who had now come to a table piled with books, 
and was turning over the Welch Grammar, the Hand-book to 
Botany, the Outlines of Geology, the Metaphysical Discourses, 
and the rest of the rather extensive tr avelling library. 

“We have brought a good many books, you see, with us on 
our journey, Mr. Primrose,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


139 


“You are tolerably well provided,” replied Hyacinth. “Win- 
ning travels with his law library. For my own part, I respect 
the law too much not to draw the proper distinction between 
term and vacation.” 

“ Have you made much progress in your life of Hippocrates ?” 
asked Reuben, slyly. 

“Not very much,” said Primrose laughing, — “but I have not 
forgotten it, I assure you. I shall certainly buckle to it some of 
^hese days, and it will be a great work let me tell you. I am a 
very hard-working fellow, but I hate labour mortally, that I admit.” 

“You have the more credit for being laborious,” said Mrs. 
Medlicott. 

“ I work because I hate work,” continued Primrose, “ to have 
it all over early in life, and be in a position to devote the rest of 
it to the delicious far-niente. Labour was a curse from the be- 
ginning.” 

“A curse,” said the Vicar, “with a blessing in it, as there is 
in all the divine judgments, if we apprehend them aright.” 

“ Thou hast well spoken, friend Thomas,” said Hannah Hop- 
kins, who had all this time been sitting as mute as if she had 
been at her silent devotions, but hearkening to all that was said 
with amusingly earnest and profound attention. An argument 
that subsequently took place on the old question of concentration 
and diffusion particularly charmed her. Reuben and his mother, 
supported by Mr. Primrose, were pitted against the Vicar and 
Winning, the Doctor taking no part, nor even opening his lips, 
until Winning, overpowered by the fluency of his antagonists, 
pretended to want his support, on which Doctor Page shook him- 
self and said he was “ a physician, not a metaphysician,” a pleas- 
antry which put an end to the controversy, not before it was 
much to be desired. 

Mrs. Medlicott, before she retired, invited the Cantabs to 
breakfast the following morning. 

Primrose would have accepted the invitation unconditionally ; 
but Winning, more steady to the plan of their journey, made his 
acceptance conditional upon the state of the weather in the morn- 
ing, for if it was possible to travel it was necessary to proceed 
another stage. 

“ I almost hope for another wet day,” said Primrose, when he 
and Winning were together again in the double-bedded room 
they occupied. “I have almost fallen in love with that merry 
quakeress.” 


140 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


“ Falling in love is a bad way to rise in the world,” said 
Winning, “ so for your sake, as well as my own, I trust to-mor- 
row will l e fair.” 

“Falling asleep is the wisest course just at present,” said 
Primrose, and he was soon steeped in slumber. 

Winning sat down to a volume of “ Coke’s Institutes,” and 
read until he could read no longer with the discordant music of 
a harp, which somebody was scraping most barbarously under his 
windows, converting it into an instrument of actual torture. Goings 
to a window, and looking out, he very soon discovered to whom 
he was indebted for the interruption of his studies. Reuben was 
taking a lesson in the national music of Wales from the old 
harper of the inn. 

Another wet day at the Goat — Primrose proposed, at break- 
fast. to change the sign ot the inn from Capricornus to Aqua- 
rius. The Doctor wanted to know why Mrs. Hopkins had not 
given her opinion on the subject of last evening’s conversation. 
Hannah shook her head, and told friend Page, that she loved to 
hear clever men and clever women arguing, and she did her best 
to understand what they were arguing about, but they were of- 
ten too deep for her and her Mary, and this was the case, she 
confessed, with the argument of the preceding night. 

“Thy faculties, Hannah,” said the Vicar, “are finite, like my 
own and the Doctor’s ” 

“ My Mary and I,” said Hannah, “have many an argument 
together, and we are sometimes not much wiser when we leave 
oil' than when we begin.” 

“ A common case in controversies,” said the Vicar. 

A bee humming in the window set Primrose again going on 
the subject of himself and his views of study. 

“ There is no toil,” he persisted, “ lovely in my sight but the 
toil of the bee which works among the flowers, or of the man of 
letters (I mean the belles-lettres, not the black letters) who re- 
sembles the bee both in the varied field of his exertious and the 
neptared sweetness of their results.” 

“ You have certainly tak<Mi a very exemplary insect for your 
model,” said the Vicar. 

“I observed a bee one day last summer in the Temple Gar- 
dens,” said Winning, “ he seemed very busy for a moment or 
two, but I suppose lie had no great taste for the bitter sweets of 
the law, for he soon flew away up the river towards Richmond, 
and I never saw him in the Temple Garden again. That was 
Primrose’s model bee, I suspect.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 141 

u Mary, can st thou repeat Letitia BarbaulcTs lines on the 
bee?” said Hannah Hopkins. 

Mary obeyed and repeated the stanzas, happily not very nu- 
merous, with tolerable accuracy, all but one, in which Reuben 
most good-naturedly and condescendingly assisted her. 

The Cambridge men were exceedingly diverted. 

“ Thou and Mary used to learn them together, when thou 
wert my scholar,” said Hannah Hopkins, addressing Reuben. 

“ He learned many a useful lesson from thee, Hannah,” said 
the Vicar. 

“ That I did, sir,” said Reub^h. 

“ Thank thee for saying so,” said Hannah, “ thou more than 
rewardest all my trouble — why dost thou laugh, Mary ?” 

Mary Hopkins had burst out into one of her constitutional 
and infectious fits of most unquakerly mirth. Primrose was in 
raptures with her. 

“Because, mother, thou talkest of the trouble that Reuben 
Medlicott gave thee, as if he had been one of thy refractory 
scholars.” 

“ Great men,” said Primrose, “ have been formed under the 
tuition of the fair sex ; the great poet Pindar, for example, was 
the pupil of the charming poetess Corinna.” 

Winning now saw a fair opportunity for regaining the lost 
paradise of Mrs. Medlicott’s favour, and adroitly availed himself 
of it 

“ And the Gracchi,” he said, “ they were still more fortunate 
in having a woman of learning and genius for their mother.” 

“ In these dull days Cornelia would have been called a blue- 
stocking,” said Primrose. 

“ The Romans understood some things much better than we 
do,” said Winning, with consummate gravity. 

Mary Hopkins, however, turned laughing to Reuben. “Thou 
seest,” she said, “ all that is expected from thee, thou shouldest 
be both a Pindar and a Gracchus, according to what thy friends 
say.” 

“ Thou art thy mother’s jewel at all events,” said old Hannah. 

The Vicar laughed heartily at the speeches of both mother 
and daughter, but what chiefly amused him was the notion of 
his wife being compared to the celebrated Roman matron, and 
Mrs. Hopkins bearing the laurelled name of Corinna. 

Winning stood almost as high after this dialogue in Mrs. 
Medlicott’s fa* our as Hyacinth Primrose. The rest of the day 


142 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


passed as pleasantly as any wet day, perhaps, that was ever spent 
in an inn. Winning had some private conversation with Reuben 
about the University, in the course of which he soon discovered 
that his friend seemed already to have almost made up his mind 
to devote himself there to any but a definite course of study, either 
with a view to mere academic distinction, or to the main business 
of life. In fact, if a desultory career can be properly called a 
career at all, Reuben Medlicott appeared bent upon pursuing one, 
and Henry Winning was confirmed in the opinion he had haz- 
arded more than once before, that his friend was much too clever, 
or at least had too many friends about him, whose faith in his 
genius was too implicit. 

The following morning at five o’clock, Primrose opening his 
eyes and drawing the curtains, saw Winning at the window 
speculating on the prospects of the weather, in a dress very 
similar to that formerly worn in acts of public penance. “ Well,” 
he said drowsily, “ how does it look ? — any sign of amend- 
ment ? ” 

“ Every promise of a glorious morning,” said Winning. 

“ Then I suppose we must leave that dear merry quakeress be- 
hind us,” said Primrose, with an affected sigh. 

When the Vicar’s party met at breakfast, the Cambridge 
students were already some leagues from Barmouth, for the day 
had kept the undertaking which the dawn had given, and was 
all the lovelier for the contrast with the gloomy weather which 
had kept the tourists in confinement. The Vicar would have 
been happy, had his plans been consistent with those of his son’s 
friends, but that was not the case ; and indeed it suited the Med- 
licotts better on many accounts to jog quietly along with the 
quakers ; and this accordingly they did in a very enjoyable man- 
ner ; the only drawback being that the same vehicle was not 
large enough to carry them all. This was remedied by the hir- 
ing of two rough surefooted ponies, upon which the Doctor and 
Reuben rode generally, but now and then they picked up a side- 
saddle for Mary Hopkins, who was probably the first quakeress 
who was ever seen on horseback in England. 

We cannot afford to- travel at the tardy rate which they found 
rapid enough for their pleasure and convenience. Slow, however, 
as their progress was, the tour was completed, or at least they 
had all returned to the house of Dr. Page, before Mrs. Medlicott 
had fathomed the transcendental sermons, or Reuben perfectly 
mastered the Welch harp and the language of the Llewellyns 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


143 


and Cadwalladers. The Doctor made them all comfortable for 
near a week (during which Rueben preserved a strict incognito), 
and the worthy son of Esculapius would have willingly detained 
them much longer, pretending that at least a month’s fumigation 
was indispensable to purify a house after the Pigwidgeons. But 
the Vicar argued that unless he was actually on the spot, the 
apothecary and his brood would never give up possession ; and 
Hannah Hopkins, whose oft-repeated rule it was to be “ merry and 
wise,” had already exceeded the limits of the longest vacation 
she had ever enjoyed, and was inflexible in her resolve to return 
to her school with the greatest possible expedition. 

Everybody was sorry to part with the kind Doctor, but no- 
body so much as Reuben, who would indeed have been ungrate- 
ful if he had not been attached to a man who had shown him so 
much hearty friendship. 

The last thing Dr. Page said to him was in a tone of good- 
humoured warning — 

“Beware of that laughing quakeress.” 


144 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS 


/ 




BOOK THE FOURTH. 


Oratlano. Well, keep me company but two years more, thou shalt not know the 
Bound of thine own tongue. 

Antonio. Farewell, I'll grow a talker. 

Gratiano. Thanks, i’ faith, for 6ilence only is commendable in a neat’s tongue 
dried. 




ARGUMENT. 


With most men, as well as with Sindbad, or Captain Lemuel Gulliver, 
human life consists of a succession of ventures or voyages, literal or me- 
taphorical expeditions ; though it is only the luck of a few such pets of 
my lady Fortune to discover valleys of diamonds, or marvellous flying 
islands. But who has not his “ travel’s history,” let it be prodigious as 
Munchausen’s or dull as any modern tour in the Alps or Apennines ? 
Which of us have not our voyages, on which we set out, when “ the tide 
in the affairs of men” happens to serve, with more or less ballast in our hold, 
"with more or less capital in money or brains to trade with, more or less of 
the breeze of hope to fan our sails ; and from which (if we escape the 
perils of the deep) we return now and then to port with more or less 
reputation or profit? The first attempt is usually a little coasting trip to 
school, where we probably gain a small commodity of Greek and Latin, 
and think we have made pretty good merchandise ; at least we have 
done as well as our neighbours, which ought in reason to content us. 
The second adventure is a little more adventurous : a cruise to one of the 
famous marts of learning, that time-honoured university, for instance, to 
which the young voyager of these pages — would he were a Jason for the 
reader’s sake 1 — is now careering in his hopeful argosy, 

with portly sail 

Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood. 

And now, if the prospect of the studious university daunts any timorous 
gentle reader, filling his imagination with notions of the endless jangling 
of bells, the tiresome and ponderous routine of lectures, not omitting 
“ the stale, flat, and unprofitable” discourse of Commons, where punning 
takes rank as wit, and the dinner is often worthy of a better company ; 
we desire and entreat of him at rnce to dismiss from his mind all such 


145 


OR, THE COKING MAN. 

I 

frightful apprehensions, for with none of these horrcis will he he visited 
and afflicted. We shall not ask him to attend a single lecture, set him to 
work the slightest problem, nor throw in his eyes the minutest grain of 
the dust of the schools ; in fact, it is for none of your hum-drum pur- 
poses our coming man has come to Cambridge. He has no notion of 
breaking his fine genius on the dull wheel of academic duties, and still 
less thought of bounding his aspirations with the winning of academic 
honours. He begins f o be pricked with the spur of a loftier ambition, 
and to feel a craving within him which the glory of doubling the cube, 
or squaring the circle, will never satisfy. “ Sic itur ad astra” is the di- 
rection of the only road he is inclined to travel, for the man that is des- 
tined to have a voice in the commonwealth, and make a noise, and a 
loud one, in the world, necessarily soars above the curriculum of his 
college, and scorns the low spheres of the mathematicians. The points 
we are now to carry in his person are neither the Hebrew points, nor 
those of geometry, which we leave to the mediocrities and the multitude. 
We hope to make a much finer figure than any in Euclid; and that is 
not to be done by listening abjectly and sheepishly when everybody is 
talking and haranguing, ranting and declaiming, or, at the very least, 
prattling and prosing round about us. In this talking world (for what 
better definition is it possible to give of it), how is a man to lie distin- 
guished but by out-talking it? It is for the plebeian spirits to “ lend their 
ears,” while men of nobler strain give tongue like Anthony ; nor let it 
be said or insinuated that mighty talking is incompatible with mighty 
doing ; for, surely, if it is true that “ words are things,” it follows, by all 
the rules of all the logicians from Aristotle to Whately, that the vulgar 
distinction between the man of words and the man of business is not to 
be maintained in solemn argument. Why, the tongue has ever been dis- 
tinguished and exalted above all other parts of the human frame by the 
express title of “the busy member.” Beyond dispute it is the busiest 
member of most Parliaments, to say nothing of its activity in the country 
at large, when Parliament is prorogued ; or of its proverbial nimbleness 
in domestic discussions. In short, we question not but the reader is now 
completely satisfied of the truth of Gratiano’s remark, that “silence is 
only commendable in a neat’s tongue dried and has made up his mind 
to say with Antonio, “ I’ll grow a talker.” 


CHAPTER I. 

DEPARTURE FOE COLLEGE. 

u One would think,” said the Vicar, “ that nobody ever left this 
neighbourhood before to go to college.” 

“ I think we may safely say,” said Mr. Pigwidgeon, “ that we 
never sent a young man up to either University with such ft 


146 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


splendid career before him. I’m a plain blunt man, who saj 
what I think, and don’t say what I don’t think. That forehead 
of his is worth ten thousand a year ; if it was mine, I would not 
exchange it for a dukedom.” 

Mrs. Medlicott thought of asking the apothecary home to 
dine; he had not dined at the Vicarage since he turned it into 
an hospital. 

Somebody else who was present inquired what Reuben was 
intended for. 

“Very little matter what he is intended for,” said Mr. Pig- 
widgeon, taking it upon him to reply ; “ the young man is fit for 
anything ; whatever profession he chooses, we’ll see him at the 
tip-top of it before he is thirty.” 

This secured Mr. Pigwidgeon the dinner. 

O O 9 # 9 

Mr. Pigwidgeon was a deliberate flatterer ; he lived by it in 
part, as he lived by administering other less agreeable things : 
but the Vicar and his wife heard nearly the same language re 
garding Reuben from almost everybody about them, until it w a k 
not very wonderful that the mother’s head was turned almost 
round, for it was as much as the father could do to keep his own 
steady. 

If Reuben’s departure for schoobmade such a sensation among 
his relations and acquaintances, you may conceive the excitement 
caused by his setting out for the University. The fuss that was 
made about so common-place an event was absolutely ridiculous. 
Mrs. Winning, of Sunbury, gave a fete champetre. Matthew 
Cox gave the heartiest of entertainments at his country-house, 
and made Reuben a present of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.” 
Canon Oldport, who was always glad of an excuse for giving a 
dinner, invited Reuben and his father to a remarkably jovial party 
of eight ; the effect of which upon the host was a fit of the gout, 
which confined him to his chair for the same number of weeks. 
Hannah Hopkins insisted upon every body drinking tea with he.; 
and made one of her huge “ cut-and-come-again ” cakes for the 
occasion ; and it was not without some management Reuben es- 
caped being encumbered with half a ton of it on his journey to 
Cambridge. Every body did something hospitable but Mr. Pig- 
widgeon, who pretended that one of his daughters had a bad 
attack of influenza. The apothecary, however, showed not only 
the greatest willingness t it the greatest anxiety to be included 
himself in all the festivities of the neighbourhood, and he never 
forgave Mr. Cox for not inviting him to the banquet he gave in 
honour of Reuben. 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


147 


The object cf all this interest, and the principal figure in these 
various festive scenes, was now nineteen ; he had attained his full 
growth, not far beneath the six-foot standard ; his figure was still 
slight, but showed a tendency to a larger development, and his 
countenance was most agreeable and prepossessing. His lip was 
no longer as smooth as Hebe’s, and a manly graciousness was 
beginning to supersede the almost feminine softness of boyhood. 
Of his personal advantages he was not unconscious ; he made the 
most of them by a scrupulous attention to his toilette, and no 
doubt he was much indebted to his graceful exterior, as well as 
to the amenity of his disposition and manners, for the favorable 
impression he made wherever he went ; but nothing gained him 
so many admirers as his vivacity and fluency in conversation. In 
a narrow rural circle, -where few could talk at all, and still fewer 
had anything to talk about, a young man who could speak with 
facility for a whole evening upon twenty subjects in succession, 
was regarded as little less than a prodigy. As Reuben could rea- 
son with his father on divinity, discourse with his mother on me- 
taphysics, talk agriculture with the farmers of Underwood, com- 
merce with the burghers of the neighbouring city, not to speak of 
poetry and botany with Mary Hopkins, it is not much to be 
wondered at that he was pretty generally believed to have all 
human knowledge at the ends of his fingers. He was, in fact, 
laying the foundation in local celebrity of that wide reputation 
which he subsequently acquired as a talker of the first magnitude. 
Several people of rank in the neighbourhood who met him at Mrs. 
Winning’s and Mr. Oldport’s, conceived the highest notions of 
hb abilities, and as to the mercantile men and the farmers, they 
thought that nothing comparable to Reuben had ever appeared, 
at least since the days of Pitt, and freely talked of the biggest 
wigs in all the professions in connexion with his young head. 

Upon the whole, what with his handsome person, his engag- 
ing manners, his voluble tongue, the acquirements he actually 
possessed, and those his fond friends so liberally gave him credit 
for, few young men ever left the paternal roof for the banks of 
the Cam or the Isis, leaving behind him a more general convic- 
tion that everything worth winning in the world would be won 
in a canter. He left behind him also several living proofs of his 
popularity, four little godsons all baptized by the name of Reuben, 
not only to do him honour, but with a prudent view to the future 
patronage and protection of so distinguished a sponsor. . 

Our very reverend grandfather was still abroad, Rhining and 


148 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


Rboning it with his young wife, or, notwithstanding the burning 
of his haggard, he would probably have appeared in person at a 
moment so critical to young Medlicott, and come handsomely 
down with some thumping lecture or discourse, on the duties and 
studies of a young collegian. Though' absent, however, and ab- 
sent upon such engrossing business as a honeymoon, he did not 
altogether neglect Reuben, but chalked out a course of reading 
for him, with a sort of chart appended to it for the entire voyage 
of life, all upon a loose scrap of paper, in the Dean’s usual rough 
and hasty way of committing even his best considered views to 
writing. 

The plan was this — Reuben was first to devote himself dog- 
gedly to mathematics, then he was to obtain a fellowship, after 
that he was to be ordained ; pupils were all along to yield him a 
handsome income, hut eventually he was to get a living ; thus 
between collegiate honours and professional advancement he was, 
in fact, to tread as nearly as possible in his grandfather’s steps, 
and a very fair road it was to wealth as well as to reputation ; 
the more was the pity that it existed only on paper, like a Ben- 
thamite constitution. 

The Dean made two egregious mistakes. The talent for doing 
anything doggedly was not among Reuben’s gifts, various as they 
were. Besides, he had no ardent passion for mathematics; so 
the very foundation of his grandfather’s scheme failed ; it is to be 
hoped his houses on Wyndham terrace were considerably more 
substantial. It might have been hard to have chosen a path for 
Reuben, in which he would have steadily travelled, but he was 
unfortunate in being put in a track from which he was almost 
under a sort of necessity of wandering. Respect for his grand- 
father and the slip of paper, however, was too strong a principle 
not to govern his conduct for at least a year ; accordingly for about 
that space of time he cultivated algebra, trigonometry, and the 
conic sections in that sort of heartless and desultory way which 
never made any man a senior-wrangler. 

Towards the close of the year he began to grow weary of 
swimming against the stream, and had thoroughly convinced him- 
self that he would never eclipse, or even equal Newton. The 
metaphysical and moral sciences suited him infinitely better than 
the exact ones ; there was place in the former for the flowers that 
refused to twine with the triangles, and for the rainbow hues 
which the circles of geometry would have nothing to do with. 
Logic and Ethics were daughters of philosophy as well as Math©- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


149 


sis ; and fame was to be achieved by courting them, if not at St. 
John’s, at least beyond its walls. Reuben began already to de- 
spise his college for the narrowness and exclusiveness of its pur- 
suits. Had the tree- knowledge only one branch ? Was the 
mind to march only in one contracted road ? Why had learning 
so many provinces, why had the intellect so many faculties, wlr 
had the brain so many chambers, or the head organs ? Howeve*. 
let the men of St. John’s be as narrow as they pleased, was he to 
cramp his genius because they perhaps had none to be cramped ; 
was he to degrade himself into a calculating machine, and pass 
the best days of his life extracting roots and solving equations f 
If these views had not readily occurred to his own mind, his 
Iriend Primrose was now at his elbow to suggest them strongly 
enough, and every letter from his mother tended also to confirm 
them. Mrs. Medlicott, in truth, had never much admired her 
father’s ideas of a career for Reuben, and she had even been more 
hurt than she conlessed at the slovenly informal way in which he 
had communicated them, upon a loose, and not over nice scrap 
of paper ; in fact, it was the back of his bill at an hotel in Gene- 
va. What she least liked in the plan was the notion of Reuben 
grinding. Were the fine talents of her son to be wasted in the 
most harassing and stupefying of all human occupations ? More- 
over, she was by no means satisfied of the absolute necessity of 
confining Reuben to the Church in the choice of a profession. 
In fact, in common with most of the Dean’s family, she had ceas- 
ed to flatter herself with the hopes of the mitre. 

Mathematics having been thrown aside, a period followed m 
which Reuben seemed to lie dormant, like a boa who has made 
a vigorous meal, and reposes for months during the process of di- 
gestion. 

After such vacations of his brain, Reuben generally surprised 
his friends by the development of a new talent ; but the talent he 
developed now was not actually new, only a growth and expan- 
sion of an old one. Reuben became a member of the Union, and 
entered into its debates and political sham battles with his usual 
industry and ardour in pursuits irrelevant, or at best only collat- 
eral, to the main business of life. He soon attained a very con- 
siderable degree of success and celebrity as a debater on all sides 
of the questions commonly discussed in those juvenile schools of 
rhetoric, such as the assassination of Julius Cresar, the public con- 
duct of Coriolanus, and whether luxury ought or ought not to be 
permitted by the lawgivers of a wise community. In the coursa 


150 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


of a few terms, it was surprising wliat an extraordinary command 
lie acquired of tropes and metaphors, and what a capital, telling, 
and brilliant speech he was able to make upon any given subject 
without boring his hearers with dry facts,- or fatiguing himself 
with extensive reading. He distanced his friend Winning many 
t» irrwgwc. Winning could do no more than study the question 
as attentively as his serious avocations permitted, and as his ora- 
tory was bounded by the extent of his knowledge, he made but a 
poor figure against a competitor whose eloquence was only the 
more copious and splendid, the less he knew about the real mer- 
its of what he was talking of. In fact, a man of a less generous 
nature than Henry AVinning, or of inferior understanding, would 
have been mortified at the success of a rival who was so much his 
junior as Medlicott; but Winning had still his eye steadily fixed, 
as at school, upon the main chance, and only attended the meet- 
ings of the Debating Society to attain that degree of facility in 
public speaking which is essential to distinction in the profession 
of the law, though subordinate, of course, to the study of the law 
itself. If he felt any pain at the sight of his friend’s trophies, it 
was purely on his friend’s account ; but he was now more econo- 
mical of his advice than he had been at Finchley, not only be- 
cause Reuben was of an age to think for himself, but feeling, as 
all sensible men feel, the older they grow, that advice-giving is in 
general a very presumptuous and a very unfruitful occupation. 

It was the necessary consequence of Reuben Medlicott’s victo- 
ries in this new field that he began soon to think that the bar was 
the profession best suited to his talents ; and in this notion he was 
warmly encouraged by the prudent Hyacinth Primrose, who saw 
in our hero the embryo of an Erskine as clearly as he ever saw 
any result in his life not actually present to his senses. 

“Medlicott, you are not going to throw yourself away on the 
Church ?” said Primrose, one morning after one of Reuben’s tri- 
umphs in mock debate, — “ You are not going to bury those splen- 
did oratorical powers of your’s in a country curacy.” 

“ As to your grandfather getting a bishopric, I look upon that 
now as perfectly chimerical,” said De Tablev, who was present. 

“ AVhether my grandfather gets a bishopric or not, I shall cer- 
tainly not go into the Church, without feeling a conscientious vo- 
cation for it, ” replied Reuben. 

“ That’s an additional consideration,” said Primrose. “ You 
have no more vocation to be a clergyman than I have. Very few 
clever fellows have, unless when there is Church patronage in the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


151 


family. Men get a pastoral turn very early when they are horn 
within view of a couple of handsome steeples, and their fathers 
possess the advowsons.” 

“ I am not of age to be ordained yet said Reuben, musing- 
ly ; “ before that time arrives, I may possibly by study and re- 
jection acquire the proper frame of mind.” 

“ And if the frame of mind is not acquired, all the time pass- 
ed in waiting for it will be thrown away.” 

“ Why that is true,” said Medlicott. 

“ Give the Church to the winds, my good fellow, that’s my 
deliberate advice ; turn your talents to account, and lose no time 
in entering your name at the Temple. What do you say, De 
Tabley ?” 

De Tabley was busy at a cold pie, but not so busy as not to 
assent to Primrose’s opinion. 

Reuben shook his head, and desired his. friends to. recollect 
that he was almost penniless ; that his father had nothing to 
leave him, and that the bar was not a profession to yield an im- 
mediate income,, even assuming success to be perfectly certain. 

“ My dear fellow,” said Primrose, “neither Winning nor my- 
self has any patrimony worth speaking of. In nine cases out of 
ten, a patrimony is a drag on the wheel of fortune ; it is true of 
small patrimonies, at all events.” 

“ But a man must live upon something before the fees begin 
to. come in, ” said Reuben, arguing, as it were, for the Church, 
while he was greatly pleased and flattered by having the bar so 
strongly recommended to his consideration. 

“No doubt, but you forget the never-failing and delightful re- 
source of literature ; you can write essays for the magazines, crit- 
icisms for the reviews, articles for the newspapers — there are the 
annuals, quarterlies, monthlies, weeklies, and dailies, all before 
you — in fact, you may make a little fortune with your pen, at- 
tendant the great one which you will afterwards make with yo«r 
tongue. Recollect, too, that very little law will serve with elo- 
quence rare as yours. Men get to the top of the wheel in these 
days much quicker by the tongue than the brains. The tongue 
is the substantial dish, the brains are only the garnish.” 

“ Tongue and brains must have been a strange dish,” said De 
Tabley ; “ I suppose it was a favourite one in Goldsmith’s time.” 

Reuben smiled at De Tabley’s incidental bit of gastronomy, 
and then said he thought there was a good deal of sense ifi the 
plan Primrose suggested. 


152 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIHS , 


“And it has this great advantage,” continued Hyacinth, 
“ that supposing the law to fail after all — ” 

“You have literature still at your hack — ■” 

“ Exactly — two strings to your bow — decide for tli€. bar, my 
boy; if our road will not be quite as short as Winning’s, at least it 
will be twice as flowery, and twice as enjoyable.” 

De Tabley was again appealed to, and perfectly concurred 
with Primrose’s views, adding, however, that he only dissuaded 
Reuben from the Church, because there was no prospect of Dean 
Wyndham being a bishop ; “ for,” added he, “ my opinion of the 
summum bonum , is a good living ; which if a man can obtain, 
it must be his own fault if he does not keep a good kitchen, and 
a good cellar. I see no reason why he should not have a good 
library also.” 

“ In the third place, ” said Primrose. 

Many more conversations of the like nature tended rapidly 
to unsettle the views with which Reuben had arrived at Car- 
bridge ; but the question was too serious to be decided by th«> 
judgment of Primrose and De Tabley, or even of “ the young man 
eloquent,” himself, who, indeed, never contemplated upon this or 
ony other occasion, flying abruptlv or rebelliously in the face of 
his nearest friends and relatives, particularly his grandfather, the 
object of his earliest admiration and respect. 

“Write to your father — break the matter to him,” said 
Primrose, after the next rhetorical triumph in the mimic senate. 

“ I’ll write to my mother,” said Reuben. 


CHAPTER IL 

EERO WORSHIP. 

He wrote to his mother accordingly, and to make his case in 
favour of the law as strong as possible, he accompanied the letter 
with two of his most elaborate speeches, one on Coriolanus and 
the other on the question of luxury, its effects on commonwealths, 
and whether lawgivers ought to restrain it or not by statutes. 
The oration on luxury pleased Mi’s. Medlicott most ; “ it was so 
powerfully reasoned,” she said, “ and so philosophical ;” but Doc- 
tor Pigwidgeon preferred the Coriolanus, without very accurately 
knowing who Coriolanus was. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


153 


Doctor Pigwidgeon was no longer a nickname. He liad 
recently obtained a Scotch degree, and had now a right to the 
title. He and his father were on the old footing again at the 
Vicarage, dropping in at dinner two or three times a week, one 
or other of them, and sometimes both, upon the stale old pleas 
and pretences, which to be sure, as long as the object was gained, 
answered the purpose quite as well as new ones. As to the 
ladies of the family, however, Mrs. Medlicott kept them at bay 
inexorably, probably thinking that enough had been sacrificed to 
them already. 

Doctor Pigwidgeon, as we have said, preferred the Corio- 
lanus. 

“ Perhaps you are right, Theodore, — let us go sit in the garden, 
and you shall read it aloud to me.” 

The Vicar was planting out brocoli. It was not far from the 
usual dinner-hour, and a tapping was heard at the door in the 
hedge just before the reading of the speech commenced. 

“ That’s my dad,” said Doctor Pigwidgeon. 

“ Highly probable,” said the Vicar, duly resting on his spade, 
and looking for the moment almost as sour as Timon in the 
same attitude. 

Young Pigwidgeon went to the door ; his conjecture was per- 
fectly well founded. 

“ Dinner’s over,” said the son jocularly to the father, as he 
admitted him. 

“ You are come in the nick of time, Mr. Pigwidgeon,” said 
Mrs. Medlicott, nodding to her never unexpected guest, the apothe- 
eeary. 

•• Very good of you to say so, madam, but I can’t even sit 
down. I only looked in, as I was passing by, to inquire if the 
hail yesterday injured your wall-fruit.” 

It would have been just the moment for taking the apothecary’s 
picture. He was, indeed, a strange-looking animal. He was 
meagre, and would have been tall had he held up his head and 
shoulders, but he stooped so much that a string from his head to 
his heels would have made quite a bow of him. His limbs were 
so wandering and ill put together, that they seemed almost to be 
detached from his person, or as if the joints were made of some 
extremely soft gelatinous substance. This straggling and drop- 
ping character extended to his features. His eyebrows, which 
were grizzly and bushy, fell heavily over his small cunning 
eyes, wlreh were never at rest, for he seemed to be always 


154 


TI. E UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 


screwing and forcing them to see something more < f even - 
thing about him than they were disposed to see of their own 
accord. His long, hooked nose (apparently a mere continuation 
of his high forehead) almost tumbled into his mouth when it 
reached it ; the mouth in turn hung, or rather wagged, upon the 
chin, and the chin was in fact a flight of chins, descending shah- 
ingly to his chest. The morality which gave expression to this 
beauty was in unison with it. In short, the “ music of his face,” 
to use Byron’s conceit, played an air very like “the Rogue’s 
March.” His attire (for he did not disdain “ the foreign aid of 
ornament”) consisted of a black suit, not very new, and which, 
like his limbs and features, seemed connected with him by asso- 
ciations of much too loose a kind. The coat would have held 
two such apothecaries, if his match could have been found in 
England. Upon the whole, there was something about the man 
that suggested a connexion with the Pays Bas of literature, or 
an existence in the back settlements of one of the learned pro- 
fessions. If a man of letters, he might have passed for a subur- 
ban writing-master ; if connected with the Church,, a parish clerk 
or a Welch curate ; if in the medical department, you would have 
guessed him to be, what in fact he was, the shabby apothecary 
of a country village. Mrs. Medlicott used sometimes to say hand- 
some things of his forehead. Positively it was a very fine one, 
but so much the worse for the science of phrenology. 

“ We should be very happy, Mr. Pigwidgeon, if you could 
stay to dinner,” said Mrs. Medlicott, smiling, “ but I was invit- 
ing you to a banquet of another kind,” — and she held up the 
paper that contained Reuben’s thunder as if it contained the most 
tempting delicacy in the world. 

“ Ah !” said the apothecary, advancing, “ that’s a horse of an- 
other colour.” 

“ And when I tell you what this is !” added Mrs. Medlicott, 
to pique his appetite. 

As soon as the apothecary learned the nature of the threat that 
awaited him, he declared that he must postpone all other busi- 
ness to enjoy it; and accordingly the reading tock place with 
due solemnity. 

The Vicar went on planting his biocoli. He said he could hear 
very well, but Mrs. Medlicott thought it was quite impossible, so 
(to accommodate matters) Mr. Theodore Pigwidgeon climbed up 
into the fork of a pear-tree, from which rural rostrum his voice 
was easily audible in all pails of the garden. The apothecary 


OR, THE COMING MAN". 


155 


seated himself on a rolling-stone, from which he conld not only 
see his son in the tree, but the smoke of the kitchen chimney 
over it ; while the proud mother occupied a rustic chair right in 
face of the doctor’s perch, and the raven kept hovering and hopping 
near, as if he too was interested in the question of Coriolanus. 

Between the orator and the majority of his critics there was 
not much difference in point of judgment. It would have been 
hard to decide whether Reuben’s inflated sentences and redun- 
dant metaphors were more or less ridiculous than the plaudits 
which they drew forth from every one but the Vicar, for even the 
raven, after having heard the elder Pigwidgeon cry “ hear, hear,” 
half a dozen times, as if he had been at a parish vestry, mimicked 
the cry to admiration, and came out with “ hears” in a manner 
quite parliamentary. 

Before the reading was concluded, the tidy maiden, who filled 
the office of butler at' the Vicarage, tripped forth to announce 
dinner. Mrs. Medlicott was for leaving the dinner to cool, and 
finish the speech, but the Vicar shouldered his spade, and 
marched into the house with the manner of a man who disdains 
to argue a plain question which he has in his power practically 
to settle. 

As the apothecary sneaked after, we have an opportunity of 
observing him in motion. If he locked more comical at one 
time than another, it was when he walked, for he traversed the 
ground with ridiculously long strides, like the s/ep-father in one 
of Hood’s diverting sketches ; and carried his hands plunged in 
the pockets of his nether garments, as a cheap substitute for 
gloves ; keeping his eyes for the most part riveted upon his shoes, 
although neither in their shape nor their lustre was there an)- 
thing to make them agreeable objects. This habit of walking 
with his eyes on the ground gave him a meditative air, and 
indeed Mr. Pigwidguon was of a meditative turn ; but I believe 
the general subject of his meditations was the contents of the 
Vicar’s pot, or whatever might happen to be turning on the 
spits of such of his neighbours and customers as he was wont to 
sponge on. 

“ We are all partial,” said Mrs. Medlicott, when the conver- 
sation returned to Reuben’s oratory, after a tolerably smart exer- 
cise of the knife and fork, particul irly by the apothecary and his 
son, — “We are all partial, and it is only natural I should, at all 
events, but I do think Reuben shows a decided talent for public 
speaking, — don’t you think so, Mr. Pigwidgeon ?” 


156 


’HE UNIVERSAL* iENIUS ; 


Mr. Pig*, tdgeon thought that nobody could th ,nk any- 
thing else, after the speech he had had the pleasure and privilege 
of hearing. 

“ It is anything but surprising,” proceeded the mother, “ to 
find that the universal opinion of his college friends is, that with 
such talents, his success at the bar, if he was to go to it, would be 
beyond all question.” 

The apothecary only nodded ; he did not like openly to go 
to so great a length as this along with Mrs. Medlicott, without 
having some little inkling of the Vicar’s sentiments. 

Mrs. Medlicott saw that it was necessary to draw her husband 
out in order to prevent the conversation from dropping, so she 
asked him pointedly what his opinion was. 

“About what?” said the Vicar. When Mrs. Medlicott took 
the trouble of informing him, all she got for her pains was sun- 
dry repetitions of the word “nonsense.” 

“ Nonsense !” repeated his wife with asperity, “ why do you 
6ay nonsense ?” 

“You wished to have my opinion,” said the Vicar, “and I 
have given it to you frankly ; you know as well as I do that 
lteuben is to get a fellowship and take orders.” 

Then there ensued a disagreeable silence for a few moments. 

“I must say,” said the^pothecary, breaking it, and trying to 
gratify the mother without contradicting the father, “ after the 
very clever and very eloquent speech which I had the pleasure of 
hearing my son read before dinner (and I don’t think he read it 
badly), nobody can wonder at the young man who made it 
wishing to become a lawyer, nor would it be surprising if he 
were even to feel a desire to go into Parliament ; on the other 
han,d, when I think of what his prospects are in the other pro- 
fession, with a grandfather who must be a bishop sooner or later 
— I have no more doubt of it than I have of my own existence 
— nothing is more natural than that his excellent father should 
have a very strong leaning in favour of the Church. And if the 
Church is to be my young friend’s destination, what a comfort it 
is to think that his oratory will not be thrown away there ; — on 
the contrary, it will enable him to make a fine figure in the 
pulpit.” 

“ That kind of thing,” said the Vicar, meaning the specimen 
he had heard of his son’s eloquence, “ would do much better in 
the pulpit than at the bar, d ipend upon it.” 

“I can’t think so,” said Mrs. Medlicott Nor could Doctor 


OR, THE COMING. MAN. 


157 


Pig widgeon bring himself to think so either. The Vicar looked 
as if he cared very little what Doctor Pigwidgeon thought on 
the subject. 

“I don’t take it upon me to decide the point,” said the 
apothecary ; “ but I’ll take the liberty of proposing the health of 
my eloquent young friend. Let him choose what profession he 
may, he will be a credit to his parents and an ornament to his 
country.” 

Mr. Pigwidgeon wanted an excuse for another glass of port 
before he took his leave, which he did immediately after toasting 
Reuben. As it was growing late, his son rose at the same time 
to accompany his father home. 

“The boy is just as fit for the bar, as he is to be prime min- 
i ter,” said Mr. Pigwidgeon senior to Mr. Pigwidgeon junior, as 
they walked borne together, pretty well replenished with the Vi- 
car’s plain but excellent fare. 

“But didn’t you think it a oeautiful speech ?” said the son. 

“ Bah, flummery,” said the father. 

“ I’m drowsy,” said the Doctor, yawning with might and 
main. 

“So am I,” said the apothecary, making the same de- 
monstration. 


• ♦ ♦ — - — 

CHAPTER IIL 

MRS. MEDLICOTT HAS A LUCID INTERVAL — A STORM SUCCEEDED BY 

A CALM. 

Mrs. Medlicott had her lucid intervals like other women, and 
in one of those which occurred the following day, she was prov- 
identially brought to see the folly of encouraging her son in the 
notions which Hyacinth Primrose and Caius Marcius Coriolanus 
had put into his head. She locked up Reuben’s orations in a 
certain omnium gatherum press of hers which contained other 
treasures of the same kind, and wrote him one of the few really 
sensible letters which he had ever received from her. The Dean 
would never have heard a word of the matter if it had not been 
for Mr. Pigwidgeon’s gossiping, in which, as usual, there was al- 
ways a spice of malice, even when his best friends were the sub- 
ject of his tongue. The only excuse for the apothecary was, that 


*58 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


be was in tlie habit of making so free at table, that he never re- 
tained a very clear recollection of an after-dinner conversation. 
He soon noised it abroad that young Medlicott was to be a law- 
yer, contrary to his father’s inclinations, and against his own ad- 
vice. We have seen that among other branches of his profes- 
sion he was a chiropodist, in plain English a corncutter. Among 
his patients in that line was l)ean Wyndham’s friend and crony, 
Mr. Oldport, and it happening about this time that the Canon 
stood in need of Mr. Pigwidgeon’s services, the apothecary drove 
in his gig to visit him ; and to beguile the time which his opera- 
tions occupied, as well as the pain which they occasioned, what 
better could he do than to retail all the little parochial news he 
could collect, and it would have been strange if he had omitted 
the latest intelligence from the Vicarage, so likely to be interest- 
ing to a brother clergyman. In fact, the Canon introduced the 
subject himself by kindly inquiring for his friend the Vicar. 

“Medlicott’s falling into flesh, of late,” he said, presenting 
his foot to the apothecary as politely as it is possible for one man 
to present another with that part of the person. 

“He’s too heavy an eater,” said Mr. Pigwidgeon. “You 
ought to caution him against that,” said the Canon. “ So I do,” 
answered Pigwidgeon, and so indeed perhaps he did, but it was 
altogether by precept, not at all by his example. 

“ And how is his clever son ? I was greatly struck with him 
one day he dined with me. Talks a little too much, but promi- 
ses to talk well. A little of Coleridge. Getting on well at the 
University ?” 

The apothecary wagged his head, and with all his chins 
shaking together gave his patient a ludicrous account of Reu- 
ben’s oratory, and the discussion to whi< h it had given rise on 
the subject of the bar, detailing especially, and. with many little 
malignant exaggerations, the public reading in the Vicar’s gar- 
den, of the great speech about Coriolanus, all which extremely 
diverted the Canon, who said he would have given a golden 
guinea to have been present, or to have had a" peep over the 
hedge. In short, Mr. Pigwidgeon, partly through his blunder- 
ing and partly through his sycophantic eagerness to make him- 
self agreeable to his patient, no matter at whose cost, left the 
Canon . under the impression that Mr. Medlicott was so excessively 
weak as to be induced by the puerile effusions of his son in a de- 
bating society, to alter all his plans for the boy’s career in life. 
From Mr. Oldport this intelligence spread to the Dean, by the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


159 


most natural channel in the world, as they were regular corre- 
spondents. The Dean happened to be near Cambridge at the 
time; the first thing was to write a brimstone letter to the ca- 
lumniated Vicar, and then in a tempest of indignation, after the 
true Sir Anthony Absolute fashion, he invaded Reuben’s chambers. 

Reuben had received his mother’s letter of remonstrance seve- 
ral days previously, had acquiesced in her views most dutifully, 
and fully made up his mind to adhere to his original intentions 
of going into orders as soon as his academic race was run, always 
provided he felt the proper spiritual dispositions. He was parti- 
cularly unfortunate in the moment his grandfather chose for pay- 
ing him this visit, for a volume of Blackstone’s Commentaries 
which Primrose had lent him was lying conspicuously on his 
table, and he was actually engaged in preparing a speech upon 
the feudal system, to be made at the next meeting of the society. 
The Dean, therefore, thought he had caught him flagrante de- 
licto, and never did father or grandfather, either on the stage, or 
in real life, deluge an unlucky young man with such a flood of 
abuse and invective. 

Reuben endeavoured to speak, knowing that in a few words 
he could dispel the misapprehension under which the old gentle- 
man was labouring ; but he might as well have tried to gain an 
audience in a West-Indian hurricane. 

The Dean began by telling him he was no more fit for the 
law than he was to command the navy ; then he asked him what 
single qualification for the bar he possessed ? — had he the brain, 
or even the stomach, which that turbuleut, laborious, and anxious 
profession required ? No man knew better than he, the Dean, 
did what the requisites of a lawyer were. What private" means 
had Re to support him until there was the remotest likelihood of 
being able to support himself by his profession ? A young fellow 
without a sixpence in the world ! What possession was he un- 
der ? Was he out of his senses? Were his parents -in their 
senses ? Here he snatched up the book that lay open on the 
table, and finding it was a Blackstone, flung it down with vio- 
lence on the table, and resumed his tirade in a more exalted and 
passionate tone, like “ Boreas talking to Auster,” as Dr. Donne 
expresses it. 

“You want the physical qualifications, boy, I tell you. 
There’s nothing of the bull-dog in you. Who are your advisers ? 
You don’t know yourself. Who has stuffed your head with this 
nonsense ? What business have you in debating societies ? Mind 
your mathematics. What’s Coriolanus to you, sir ?” 


160 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS \ 


“ Nothing,” replied Reuben, with a simplicity which tov k the 
choleric Dean by surprise, and checked his violence for a mo- 
ment ; but, noticing the papers that were strewed about, he 
snatched some of them up, and perceiving at once that they were 
notes of a speech, and a speech on a legal subject, he blew an- 
other gale stiffer than before, if that had been possible. 

Reuben acted extremely well through a scene in which he had 
a difficult part to play. After this first unsuccessful interruption, 
he preserved a rigid but most respectful silence (only glowing 
with indignation when his grandfather most unjustly called in 
question his brains), until the time for reply was fully come, and 
then he quietly explained what, if he hacl been suffered to ex- 
plain before, would have saved his grandfather the trouble and 
physical exertion of making such a hubbub about nothing. 

“ I am glad to hear it,” said the Dean, sitting down to 

rest himself, and at the same time wiping his broad forehead ; 
for he had talked himself into a streaming perspiration. 

Reuben showed him his mother’s letter, which pleased him, 
and he even condescended to wish he had seen it before he had 
written to the Vicar under his erroneous impression. 

“ Who is Pigwidgeon ?” said the Dean. 

“ Our apothecary,” said Reuben. 

“He must have read your speech, or heard it read,” said the 
Dean. “ I made a speech about Coriolanus myself, when I was 
a freshman.” 

Reuben smiled at this admission, and thought it not improba- 
ble his grandfather had made a speech on the feudal system also. 

“ But pray, sir,” he asked eagerly, “ was Mr. Pigwidgeon 
your informant ?” 

“He informed my informant,” said his grandfather. 

Reuben now saw to whom he was indebted for this unpleasant 
fracas with his venerable relative, and he did not allow the post 
to leave Cambridge without bearing a letter to his father; the 
effect of which was that the Vicar walked into the village within 
half an hour after he received it, and administered a bitter pill 
to the apothecary, in the form of a very severe rebuke for his un- 
warrantable violation of the confidences of private life. Mrs. 
Medlicott was highly incensed also ; so that Mr. Pigwidgeon en- 
tirely lost the good-will of the Vicarage by his shabby behaviour 
in this affair, and never afterwards reinstated himself completely. 

Reuben had never known his grandfather so gracious as he 
became, all of a sudden, on finding that his wishes were still 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


161 


the laws of the Medes and Persians with his daughter and her 
husband. lie insisted on Reuben dining with him at his hotel, 
and Hyacinth Primrose happening to drop in before he left the 
college, he extended the same civility to him. In the cor -se of 
the day he strolled about a great deal with the two young men, 
like some redoubted peripatetic philosopher with his pupils dan- 
gling after him. To listen reverentially to Doctor Wyndham, 
receiving everything that fell from his lips as if it were honey of 
Hybla or gold of Opliir, was an infallible receipt for keeping him 
in good humour ; and it was sometimes well worth while to pay 
him this sort of homage, for when he was serene and pleased 
with his company, no man discoursed more instructively or en- 
tertainingly, and for young 'nen his conversation was particularly 
improving. On the preset occasion, after making some excel- 
lent remarks upon debatU f societies, and balancing their advan- 
tages and dangers with gt ;at shrewdness and discrimination, he 
talked largely and eloquently upon the profession of the law, re- 
turning in good humour to the subject which he had handled 
shortly before in so termagant a fashion. His fluency, vigour, 
and knowledge of life, surprised and delighted Primrose, who 
was now in his company for the first time. The Dean recurred 
to his idea of the bull-dog, and when he heard that Primrose 
was designed for the bar, he hoped he had a dash of that pug- 
nacious breed in him. 

“ A lawyer,” he repeated, “ is nothing without it ; he wants 
it every day of his life, either to bully a witness, beard a judge, 
wrangle with his brethren, or thrust his own views of the case 
down the throats of the jury.” 

Primrose ventured to say that something of the spaniel 
seemed often to be a very useful element in the lawyers charac- 
ter. 

“ The crown-lawyers, for instance,” said the Dean, approving 
of Primrose’s remark ; “but what say you to a cross between the 
bull-dog and spaniel, perhaps that would be the best dog of all.” 

“ I think, sir,” said Reuben modestly, “ a dog of that breed 
would make a good attorn. y-general ” 

“ Very well,” said the Dean, poking his grandscn in the rib3 
with the end of his stick j “ very well, indeed, — and now let us 
go to dinner.” 


162 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE DEAN AT THE TABLE. 

The Dean hacl not said a word from which it was possible to 
infer that he was not quite alone at Cambridge, so the astonish- 
ment of Reuben may be imagined when, on entering the drawing- 
room, he found his grandmamma Blanche waiting to receive him. 
This totally unexpected meeting with his old flame, now placed 
in so singular a relation towards him, — one so utterly inconsistent 
with the slightest remnant of. the feelings which she formerly 
inspired (even making such feelings absolutely ridiculous) — 
might well have fluttered a less susceptible young man than 
Reuben Medlicott. This was his first meeting with Blanche since 
she made her strange marriage ; indeed since the day he left that 
unfortunate essay on shoemakers upon her table, in which he had 
but too incautiously disclosed the state of his heart. Fortunately 
the circumstances of the meeting prevented the embarrassment 
(which was in some degree mutual) from taking a sentimental 
turn. It was impossible to be sentimental in Dean Wyndham’s 
company ; and the near approach of dinner, with the presence 
of Hyacinth Primrose, had a further tendency to place the inter- 
course between Reuben and Mrs. Wyndham at once upon a 
rational and easy foundation. In fact, ere dinner was announced, 
Reuben’s agitation was nearly over ; and before the close of the 
evening, he was almost on the same terms with Blanche as lie 
might have been with any other handsome young woman who 
had taken a fancy to marry the old Dean. Blanche was greatly 
improved by matrimony, but not so much in her person, perhaps, 
as in her air and manners. The little state of the matron became 
her; its independence and dignity had communicated a graceful 
firmness to her deportment ; and though she still had that soft, 
earnest expression in her eyes, there was an animation in them 
now which was no doubt due to her enlarged experience of life, 
and a corresponding freedom and spirit in her conversation, to be 
attributed, of course, to the same cause. Her style of dress was 
altered considerably; as became the wife of a clergyman and 
dignitary of the church, she was attired with extreme but most 
becoming simplicity, no longer in the gayest hues of the season, 
as when she was one of the three Sherries. 

Two bonnets wer£ lying on a sofa, with other miscellaneous 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


163 


female properties, seemingly thrown there, because, in an hotel, 
the bedroom was probably at a considerable distance. Mrs 
Wyndham saw Reuben’s eye directed to the bonnets. 

“ I am not the only lady of our party,” she' said, s^niling. 

“ Where’s Catherine ? ” cried the Dean, almost at the same 
/nstant. 

Reuben was alarmed, thinking that Catherine was in all pro- 
bability the eldest Miss Barsac, of whom he retained a disagree- 
able recollection. But his alarm was only of momentary duration, 
for the door opened, and in came the woman, whom of all others, 
next to his mother, he would have wished her to prove — his 
bountiful and blooming aunt Mountjoy. She had scarcely time 
to embrace him, when the Dean seized her arm and led her into 
the dining-room, through a door which a servant had just thrown 
open. Primrose presented his arm to his old acquaintance, Mrs. 
Wyndam. Probaby a more agreeable party of five never met at 
a dinner-table. The Dean, no doubt, talked more than his share ; 
but as he eat more than his share also, he left the rest considera- 
ble opportunities of conversing, and they were not neglected. 
Reuben, seated between his pretty grandmother and his charming 
aunt, from both of whom he had been so long separated, basking 
in the Dean’s capricious favour, and with the most intimate and 
most brilliant of his university friends near him, could not have 
been much happier had he been at a feast of nectar and ambrosia 
in one of the Islands of the Blest. He appeared indeed that day 
to great advantage, confirmed the opinion of his talents which 
almost everybody was disposed to entertain, and pleased Mrs. 
Mountjoy so very much, that, although she was not in the habit 
of writing to her sister, she could not refrain the next day from 
doing so, for the pleasure of letting her know what she thought 
of her nephew, what a splendid future she predicted for him, and 
what an engaging young man he already was. 

Mrs. Mountjoy was one of those women of whom it is impos- 
sible to speak in too flattering terms — impossible to think of 
without wishing to be near them — impossible to sit beside 
without extreme danger of falling in love with, unless, like 
Reuben, you happened to be a nephew, which alters the matter. 
Her beauties were ample, and her heart was large in proportion. 
In short, she was an angel all but the wings ; and a stout pair of 
pinions it would have taken to have borne a seraph of her pro- 
portions through the empyrean. 

The Dean, though he seemed sometimes to forget himself, and 


164 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ! 


treat Blanche l n the footing of a child, patting her on the head, 
or chucking her under the chin, was manifestly influenced by her, 
and very much to his advantage, in more ways than one. Reu- 
ben could^see at a glance that his grandfather was wonderfully 
softened since the period when he knocked the boys about at Mrs. 
Barsac’s evening parties ; and his aunt privately informed him 
that though she attributed the change partly to the society of his 
young wife, she considered it still more owing to the improve- 
ment of his circumstances by the addition of Blanche’s fortune, 
and to a temporary withdrawal from his building speculations, by 
which he had burnt his fingers so severely. This was a mere 
conjecture of his daughter’s, and not very well founded,' as we 
shall soon have occasion to know. 

“ But hush, the Dean is talking, and we must listen, my dear,” 
said Mrs. Mountjoy, stopping in the midst of her domestic expla 
nations. 

The Dean was talking of fluency as a result and a symptom 
of shallowness. “ Full men,” he said, “ are seldom fluent. They 
are eloquent, but eloquence and fluency are different things. 
Young men discourse fluently in proportion to their ignorance, 
not to their knowledge, of a subject. There is no more worthless 
or more dangerous acquirement than eloquence in the vulgar 
sense of the word. Bruce remarked of the Abyssinians, ‘that 
they were all orators,’ ‘ as indeed,’ he adds, ‘ are most barbarians.’ 
The observation is extremely applicable to an unfortunate country 
not a thousand miles off, with which we are veiy closely con- 
nected. I have always thought the great misfortune of that 
country was that when the family of the Shallows settled there, 
the family of Master Silence did not accompany them.” 

All laughed — Primrose was particularly amused by this fancy 
of the Dean’s, and said he had no notion so much about Ireland 
was to be learned from Shakspeare. 

“His plays are full of Irish characters,” said the Dean. 
“ What do you say of such swagge mg poltroons as Pistol an/ 
Parolles, or that facetious, foul-moutl ed blusterer, Thersites ? An 
they not Irish to the back-bone ? Can’t you fancy Pistol mem- 
ber for Limerick, and Thersites representing the city of Dublin ?” 

“ But, sir,” said Reuben, “ speaking of Homer’s Thersites, is 
not that a very effective speech which he makes in the first book 
of the Iliad ?” 

“Very effective,” muttered the Dean, “but only in bringing 
down the staff of Ulysses upon the speaker’s shoulders. Homer 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


165 


makes Thersites the representative of talent without worth, elo- 
quence without character. Pope well observes that had Ulysses 
made the same speech, the troops would have sailed that night 
for Greece. Character is to an individual what position is to a 
general. The world asks who a man is before it gives him an 
audience, or at least before it hears him a second time. We 
must not only take thought what we say, but from whence we 
say it. Even in society, the prosperity of a jest depends upon the 
consideration of the man who makes it, often upon his place at 
the table. Young men ought to reflect upon this, and take more 
pains to make themselves respected than admired.” 

Primrose tried to draw out the Dean on the question of Catho- 
lic Emancipation, but upon that subject he was reserved, and what 
he did say was oracular and ambiguous. He dropped it soon, 
and preferred giving an account of his varrious honeymoon expe- 
ditions, swinging himself about on his chair in his original man- 
ner, and threatening destruction to all the glasses and decanters 
within the reach of his arms. His last excursion, with Blanche, 
had been in Switzerland. Primrose was amazed at the feats of 
pedestrianism performed by a man considerably upwards of sixty, 
and could scarcely believe some of them, though solemnly 
attested by his wife. One of his walks was from Lauterbrunnen 
over the Wengern Alp, to the summit of the Faulhorn, “no jour- 
ney that of a sabbath day.” Blanche accompanied him on horse- 
back. She had followed him also on another great excursion to 
the glaciers of the Phone. 

“ I never saw a mountain in my life,” said the Dean, “ that I 
did not get to the top of it, if it was possible ; when I was first 
in Switzerland, I was a very young man, and if I did not ascend 
Mont Blanc, it was not that the mountain was so high, but that 
my pockets were so low. The ascent is an expensive thing, for 
you must take a regiment of guides with you. Another passion 
of mine was for the sources of rivers. I have seen the sources of 
most of the great rivers of Europe. Had I devoted myself to it, 
I would have discovered the springs of the Nile long ago. I 
have no doubt of it.” 

“ But you have been in Egypt, sir ? ” said Reuben. 

“ Yes, but not on a matrimonial excursion. I went further 
up the Nile than any man livirg, and I have seen more of Pales- 
tine than any man living either ; I was on the top of Mount 
Sinai, which nobody in Europe has to say but myself. In fact, 
there is nothing that I have not done in the way of travelling ; I 


166 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


rode everything rideable, shot everything shootable, swam every- 
thing swimmable, climbed everything climbable, and eat every- 
thing eatable, in eveiy country I visited.” 

“ I believe, sir,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, “ when you were first 
married you went to Scotland.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy and Mrs. Medlicott were the Dean’s daughters 
by his second wife ; his first marriage was very early in life ; it 
bore no fruit, and seemed now even to himself an occurrence of 
ancient history. 

“ I was married in Scotland,” said the Dean, in reply to his 
daughter’s observation. 

“ Not at Gretna, I hope, sir,” said Hyacinth Primrose. 

“Not at Gretna; all was regular; but it was in Scotland, so 
that I took the tour of the Highlands. Nobody ever travelled so 
far north in Scotland as I did; I visited every lake, all the 
islands, and from the Calton Hill to the loftiest peak in the coun- 
try, if it was a sin to do homage to nature on the high places, I 
committed that sin upon every one of them. But it is not nature 
we worship in such scenes, but the God of nature, and that is only 
the true religion. My second honeymoon I spent in the Pyrenees, 
so that there’s a chain of mountains for you for every chain in 
which Hymen bound me.” 

“ You will take your next wife to the Himalayas, sir,” said 
Blanche quietly and pleasantly. 

“ Not further than the Andes,” said the Dean, laughing, with a 
swing of one of his arms that knocked his glass of claret off the table. 

“ No,” he ffclded, with a vigorous sigh, never minding the glass, 
“ I’ll ascend no more mountains. My mountaineering days are 
over.” 

His young wife probably thought that he might have said his 
marrying days were over, but he cautiously confined his pledge 
to the ascent of mountains. 

“ Who will say or sing, henceforward,” said? Hyacinth Prim- 
rose to his friend the following morning, “ that — 

"Wint’ry age and youth 
Ne’er can dwell together ? 

I am heartily glad to see the Dean so happy with his young wife. 
What a fine old fellow he is !” 

“ Hyacinth,” said Reuben, “ you have been very successful in 
your gallery of personal sketches in the ‘ Cambridge Miscellany,’ 
you ought to do my grandfather.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 167 

“ A capital notion; I’ll do it, Reuben, but I must see more of 
him. Is there a chance of his asking me to dinner again ?” 

“ A very good chance, indeed,” replied Reuben. 

A note from Mrs. Wyndham within half an hour verified the 
prediction. The young men dined a second time with the Dean 
at his hotel, and Primrose had ample opportunities of studying 
the subject of his intended sketch in the bosom of private life. 
Hyacinth made rapid, way in his favour, and in the graces of Mrs. 
Mountjoy also. On his return to his chambers he made some 
notes of the most remarkable things that fell from Doctor Wynd- 
ham. Among them was the following : — 

Primrose had ventured flatteringly to allude to the bishopric 
which had not yet been conferred upon the Dean, though so long 
expected by his family, and which, in some respects, would have 
been only a just tribute to his talents and character as a Church- 
man. 

“ I’ll tell you a tale of a prebend out of old Burton,” said 
the Dean, “ and you may apply it to a bishopric if you think it 
will fit.” 

The company. w 7 ere all curiosity and attention to hear the stoiy, 
which the Dean related very nearly as it may be found in Burton’s 
chapter on “repulses, injuries, disgraces, and contempts.” 

“ In Moronia Pia, or Moronia Felix, I know not whether, nor 
how long since, nor in what cathedral-church, a fat prebend fell 
void. Many suitors were up in an instant. The first had rich 
friends and a good puree : every man supposed he would carry it. 
The second was my Lord Bishop’s Chaplain, in whose gift it was: 
he thought it only his due. The third was nobly born, and he 
meant to get it through his great relations and allies. The fourth 
was the deceased Prebendary’s son : his father died in debt (for 
the prebend, as it was said,) left a wife and many poor children. 
The fifth stood upon fair promises which had been formerly made to 
his friends for the next preferment in his Lordship’s gift. The 
sixth had married a kinswoman of the Bishop, and he sent his 
wife to sue for him. There were several more, but the twelfth 
and last was a right honest man, an excellent scholar, a pious 
minister, and a painful preacher ; but he had neither means nor 
money ; besides he hated such courses ; he could not speak for 
himself, neither had he any friends to solicit his cause, and there- 
fore he made no suit, could not expect, neither did he hope for, 
or look after it. The good Bishop, perplexed among so many 
competitors, and not yet resolved what to do, at length of his own 


168 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS j 


accord, mere motion, and bountiful nature, gave it freely to the 
excellent, pious scholar, altogether unknown to him but by fame. 
The news was no sooner published abroad, but all good students 
rejoiced, though some would not believe it, and some said it was 
a miracle. One among the rest thanked God for it, and said, 

‘ Nunc juvat tandem Deo integro corde servire.* You have heard 
my tale of a prebend ; but, alas, it is but a tale — a mere fiction ; 
’twas never so, and never like to be.” 

The Dean invited the young men again for the following day, 
but when the time came he had gone up to London on business, 
and Mrs. Wyndham and Mrs. Mountjoy remained to entertain the 
company. That was no difficult matter ; but when the day was 
over, Mr. Primrose had his thoughts more engaged with Mrs. 
Mountjoy than with her father; in fact, he gave Reuben distinctly 
to understand that nothing could prevent his falling over head 
and ears in love with his aunt but her immediate departure from 
Cambridge. That event took place, however, sooner than he 
wished, for the Dean sent for his wife to join him in London, and 
Mrs. Mountjoy went up to town with her, having some law busi- 
ness there, and intending soon to go abroad, for she was a free 
British widow, might go where she pleased, and had made up her 
mind to use her liberty. She did not take leave of Reuben with- 
out the tenderest of adieus, giving him many useful little hints of 
the kind that women alone can give, and making him at the same 
time such a substantial present as her comfortable circumstances 
enabled her to afford, while those of Reuben made it most agreea- 
ble to him to accept. As to Mr. Primrose, if she had any senti- 
ments towards him beyond those which most engaging young 
men inspire upon a short acquaintance, Mrs. Mountjoy kept them 
perfectly private, and they were not of a nature to alter her pur- 
pose of leaving England. 

Twelve months elapsed before Hyacinth executed his purpose 
of sketching the character of Dean Wyndham for the Gallery of 
Eminent Living Divines, in the “ Cambridge Miscellany.” Pro- 
bably his admiration of Mrs. Mountjoy, and the desire to please 
her, made him take unusual pains with this portrait, for it was 
done with great spirit and graphic ability, and made a considera- 
ble noise at the University and in the literary circles of London. 
The Dean was not long before he found out who the author was, 
and though a few of his faults were touched on, yet the censure 
was so adroitly mingled with praise, that upon the whole it grati- * 
fied him extremely, and gave Primroso the first place in his favour, 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


169 


of all the young men at Cambridge. Reuben sent it to his aunt 
Mountjoy at Paris, where it was copied into Galignani's Messenger t 
a circumstance which added to the satisfaction of the Dean 
enormously. 


CHAPTER V. 

▲ NEW EMPLOYMENT. 

But what was Reuben to do ? His grandfather left Cambridge 
without taking the thought or the trouble of advising or instruct- 
ing him upon that head. In fact, the old gentleman had enough 
of business on his hands, between his books and his bricklayers, 
without taking on himself the office of standing counsel to his 
grandson,, and the only wonder was that he interfered in his af- 
fairs at all, even in the hasty, intemperate way that has been 
described. 

But Reuben was too young to be left so much as he was, at 
this critical period of his life, to his own ingenious devices, or 
those of his friend Primrose. The Church was, in one respect, a 
most unfortunate choice for him. It left two or three years upon 
his hands, a space of time which it seemed impossible to fill up 
with mere theological studies, and which he was therefore only 
too much inclined and too much encouraged to fritter away in a 
variety of trifling and irrelevant pursuits. It seemed always tim9 
enough to sit down to study for ordination ; and besides, until 
the time drew near, how could he be assured, upon anything like 
good grounds, that he was morally justified in entering a pro- 
fession which, much to his credit, he had not brought himself to 
regard in the secular way in which he saw it regarded by most 
of the men about him. Thus, if he put aside the law, it was not 
so much to embrace divinity in its stead, as to give himself up to 
alternate fits of total indolence, or activity of a not much more 
profitable kind. He did not even cultivate literature with the 
energy of Primrose, who acquired not only character, but money, 
by his contributions to several periodicals. Reuben was too fas- 
tidious, too slow, and too uncertain, to produce with the rapidity 
indispensable to a journalist, or the punctuality of which only an 
editor knnvs the importance. At several intervals during these 
8 


170 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 

years lie tried his hand at grinding, not knife-grinding, but grind- 
ing the edges of blunt intellects. This was lucrative, but it pleased 
his father more than it did his mother, and he did not stick to it 
very long ; in fact, he discovered (no doubt with the aid of his 
mother’s spectacles) that, whatever faculties he might possess for 
sublimer things, he was “little better than a dunce at grinding” 

These were his own words in one of his letters home. The 
next day a letter from the Dean at Westbury informed him most 
unceremoniously, that he was nominated private tutor to a noble 
family in a northern county. His grandfather had settled all the 
preliminaries, the terms, the duties, the quando and the quid pro 
quo , in short everything ; Reuben had only to pack his portman- 
teau and book himself for Westmoreland — an obedience which 
he rendered much against the grain, though he was not nearly 
so much hurt as his mother was by the arbitrary fashion in which 
an arrangement was made, in itself sufficiently distasteful. 

The life, however, which Reuben led for several months with 
his pupils, Lord Appleby and Mr. Portly, was as easy a form of 
existence as can possibly be imagined. Their father, the Earl of 
Whitehaven, was a widower, resident abroad ; and his sons, more 
studious of the pleasures of the chase and the table, than of those 
higher delights to which their preceptor would have led them, 
paid every attention to Reuben, except attention to his lectures. 
They left him in undisturbed possession of a good library during 
the day, and when the critical hour of dinner arrived, they took 
the best possible care of him, initiated him in many mysteries of 
the kitchen, and for gastronomic reasons, never imposed on him 
the duty of carving. The only way in which Reuben found it 
practicable to instil any classical taste into his- noble pupils was 
by awakening their curiosity on the methods of hunting and 
cooking in use among the ancients. They were equally aston- 
ished and delighted to learn that there existed treatises on hunt- 
ing and fishing by Greek and Latin authors, and that Mrs. Glasse 
and Dr. Kitchiner were not without their types and parallels in 
Rome and Athens. Upon these topics, and upon ancient wines, 
they would even draw their tutor out, and lead him to expatiate 
at breakfast or dinner. 

When Reuben mentioned that the great Xenophon had writ- 
ten a work on sporting dogs, and another on horses, Lord Ap- 
pleby would smile, and cry “indeed!” But though there was 
an English translation of the work on horses in the library, he 
never went so far as to take it down. Mr. Portly was partial to 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


171 


anecdotes of Apicius and Lucullus, and when Reuben told of 
those wonderful dishes of nightingales’ tongues patronised by 
ancient epicures, the brothers invariably wondered whether there 
were nightingales enough in their neighbourhood to make a pie 
or a fricassee. 

Reuben made no illiberal use of his own tongue in West- 
moreland, but there was this excuse for him, that he had gener- 
ally to find talk for the whole party, particularly during the la- 
bours of dinner, and after the fatigues of the chase. It was 
probably now that he first acquired the habit of lecturing in com- 
pany, and considering a party collected round the dinner-table, 
or a group in a drawing-room, as an audience which it was his 
proper function to address, entertain, or enlighten. It was now 
likewise, that he devoted himself for the first time systematically 
to the study of words and phrases, independently' of ideas and 
information. He began to keep a MS. book in which he gradu- 
ally accumulated a prodigious stock of metaphors, similes, ima- 
ges, allegories, tropes, figures and allusions, taken from every 
work that fell in his way, and classified after a plan of his own, 
so as to have them ready for use upon every occasion, like the 
arms in a magazine. He made another book of quotations, 
marshalled according to subjects, and provided with an index for 
easy reference ; nor was he content with any of the existing col- 
lections of synonymes, but commenced the formation of a very 
extensive one for his private purposes, so as to qualify himself 
(we may presume) to express everything he might possibly have 
to say in every form in which it was capable of being expressed; 
no doubt considering it a shabby thing in a speaker to have but 
one or two suits to clothe a thought in, although they should hap- 
pen to fit it ever so well, and exhibit it to the best advantage. 

Occasionally the disciples would leave their master for weeks 
together, to join a shooting-party in Scotland, or on some other 
excursion of pleasure. During one of these lonely intervals our 
opal-minded student devoted himself to a little course of reading 
in heraldry, a subject upon which the library at Appleby con- 
tained some very quaint and rare books. 

Reuben commenced taking extracts from the works now at 
his command, originally with a view to illustrate the armorial 
bearings of the different English bishoprics ; but his ideas extended 
as he advanced, and before his labours were over, his papers con- 
tained materials for a curious essay on heraldic zoology. This 
paper saw the light very soon after it was writU n ; for, happen- 


172 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


ing to meet, in a neighbouring country-house, an officious, tut 
apparently good-natured little fellow, of the name of Griffin, who 
was an enthusiast on everything connected with heraldry, Reuben 
fell into conversation with him on the subject, and on mentioning 
his essay, Griffin offered to get it inserted in the “ Gentleman’s 
Magazine,” if the author would entrust him with it. This Reu- 
ben did without hesitation, thanking him warmly for his kindness, 
and he very soon saw, by several laudatory notices in the news- 
papers, that Mr. Griffin had been as good as his word. The suc- 
cess of this essay, who actually benefited by it, and how shabbi- 
ly the author was treated in the transaction, will appear in pro- 
cess of time. 

A melancholy incident terminated this passage of Reuben’s 
life, and made a deep impression upon him. He was induced 
one day to go shooting with his pupils and one or two other men. 
Reuben carried a gun, but with so little malice against the birds 
of the air, that after a single shot, which did no execution, he 
never loaded his piece again, but kept by the side of Mr. Portly, 
who was a keen sportsman, and never so good company as when 
he was in the field. Returning late in the evening through a close 
coppice, Reuben happened to be in advance of his friend by a 
few yards, when hearing a shot behind him, he turned about, 
and going back some paces, found Portly stretched upon the 
ground, life almost extinct, having received the contents of his own 
gun on one side of his head, which was mutilated and shattered 
in the most frightful manner. He expired on the spot where he 
lay. The spectacle appalled Reuben indescribably ; a bloody ap- 
parition haunted his imagination for years, and for a considera- 
ble time not only were his spirits depressed, but his health sen- 
sibly affected. He left Appleby immediately after the funeral of 
his unfortunate pupil, and spent a short time with his parents, 
during which interval he was seen so frequently in the company 
of the cosy, fat quakeress, that people began to smile and gossip 
on the subject, although, after all, there might have been nothing 
in it. 

There occurred one incident — and only one — worth relating 
during this visit to Underwood ; but being of an episodical na- 
ture, we reserve it for a distinct chapter. 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


173 


CHAPTER YL 

THE SEEMON ON CONSCIENCE. — AN EPISODE. 

It will be remembered tbat Mr. Medlicott had frankly and pleas- 
antly accepted a present of the sermon which the Dean, his father- 
in-law, had dropped into the well several years before, on the night 
before Reuben went to school, and the Vicar had resolved to 
treat his congregation to it the very next Sunday. This resolu- 
tion, however, he did not adhere to, being influenced chiefly by 
the integrity of his character, which disinclined him to deck him- 
self with borrowed plumage, particularly with feathers which 
both his verdict and his judgment assured him were so much 
finer than his own. On several occasions subsequently, however, 
either when he was lazy, or otherwise indisposed, he used 
to say to his wife on a Saturday morning® that he had a great 
mind to give the parishioners her father’s thunder ; but still, when 
the Sunday came, he continued to shrink from what he consi- 
dered a species of imposition ; and one of his own old sermons 
on the vices of lying and slandering, or the bad habits of pick- 
ing and stealing, was reproduced for the twentieth time. Latterly 
the Dean’s sermon had been almost forgotten, and lay, with some 
others, in a sort of omnibus drawer in the bedroom, amongst the 
Vicar’s shirts, flannel waistcoats, and loose miscellaneous papers. 
Mrs. Medlicott often remonstrated on the subject of that drawer, 
and suggested the expediency of putting its contents in order, parti- 
cularly the papers; but the Vicar would shrug his shoulders and 
reply that they were quite as well arranged as the records of the 
kingdom itself; and moreover, his wife was open to a tuquoque , 
for there were drawers and shelves in her own chests and ward- 
robes, where similar confusion prevailed, and from which, when 
she drew a shawl or petticoat in a hurry, it was no uncommon 
event for one of Reuben’s schoolbooks, French exercises, or her 
mother’s unfinished tract on Spartan education, to tumble out 
on the floor. On the first Saturday evening after Reuben’s ar- 
rival, the Vicar had been in one of his ordinary difficulties about 
a sermon ; he had been too much occupied planting some new 
strawberries during the week, and had left himself little or no time 
for the more important duty of preparing a suitable discourse for 
the edification of his flock. 

“I have a great mind,” said he, “ to read one of the homilies 


174 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


to-morrow. It is a pity they have fallen into disuse. Some of 
them are very fine compositions, and the worst is far better than 
any sermon I ever wrote, or shall write.” 

“ You had better preach that sermon of my father’s,” said 
Mrs. Medlicott, and Reuben agreed with her. 

“Perhaps so,” said the Yicar, “I had almost forgotten all 
about it.” 

“ Where is it ?” said his wife. 

“ I suppose in the drawer with the shirts,” said the Yicar. 

Mrs. Medlicott said something to the effect, that the drawer 
in question was no place for her husband’s sermons. 

“ I don’t know,” he rejoined, “ w r hether it is the shirts that get 
among the sermons, or the sermons among the shirts, but they 
have pigged together in the same drawer ever since I was mar- 
ried.” 

After some more dialogue of this kind, he went to the drawer to 
look for Dean Wyndham’s sermon, but it was not to be found. 
There was a sermon on drunkenness, which he had preached not 
many months before ; the sermon on picking and stealing, which 
he had given two Sundays previously ; and some other discourses 
on various moral duties, to every one of which either Mrs. Medli- 
cott or Reuben had some objection to make. 

“Perhaps it has got into some place of yours ?” said the Vicar. 

“ How is that possible ?” said his wife. 

“ Such things have happened,” said the Vicar, “ so we had 
better try.” 

Mrs. Medlicott was very averse to an examination of her stores, 
for she had been severe on the condition of her husband’s, and 
was conscious that her own were not much better arranged. 
However, there was no help for it, and so her drawers in their 
turn were submitted to scrutiny. A French dictionary tumbled 
out of a bundle of dimities upon the Vicar’s toe in the very be- 
ginning of the search. 

“ Upon my word,” said he, stooping to rub his foot, “ I am 
beginning to think that my drawers aie not so very disorderly after 
all.” 

“ The maids thrust everything into my shelves, ” said Mrs. 
Medlicott. 

“ Careless husseys !” murmured the Vicar. 

“ Well, the sermon is not here at all events, ” said his wife, 
pushing the dimities back into the press, and turning the key 
rather brusquely. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


175 


“ We shall find it some day or another, when we are not look- 
ing for it,” said the Vicar. “I suppose I must entertain them 
with ‘ the dinner of herbs and the stalled ox,’ to-morrow.” 

This was a standard discourse of Mr. Medlicott’s on the text, 
“ Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and 
hatred therewith.” It was really a very good plain sermon, and 
he had once indulged his peculiar vein of humour by preaching 
it before the corporation of Chichester, upon whose habits of good 
living it was a sly practical satire. 

“ I don’t see what better, you can do,” said Mrs. Medlicott ; 
and so it was settled on the Saturday night : but the following 
morning, when the Vicar took a clean shirt out of the drawer, 
the sermon that had gone astray turned up among the folds of 
the linen, and was preached that same day to the congregation 
of Underwood. 

The subject was the office and authority of conscience in the 
moral constitution of man. 

Never was a preacher more nervous through apprehension of 
being considered dull than Mr. Medlicott was upon this occasion, 
lest there should be anybody present capable of detecting and 
appreciating the originality and excellence of his discourse. In 
general, there was never a less critical audience than his parish- 
ioners formed, or one upon whose swinish judgments the pearls 
of eloquence or learning would have been so completely thrown 
away. He scrutinized them, however, upon this occasion very 
closely, and so did his wife and son, though Mrs. Medlicott’s mo- 
tive for doing so was mere curiosity to observe if by chance a 
single person present would be struck by the difference between 
a sermon of her father’s and those which the congregation was in 
the habit of hearing. But not a being, in any comer of the lit- 
tle church, betrayed the slightest emotion, from first to last, of a 
nature either to alarm the Vicar, or to gratify the filial pride of 
Mrs. Medlicott. On the contrary, as the sermon was longer by 
about ten minutes, or rather more, than the ordinary standard in 
the parish, two or three of the farmers and shopkeepers were obvi- 
ously affected by that peculiarity, as appeared by their yawning 
and fidgeting, and other symptoms of uneasy or weary listeners. 
Before the service commenced, however, both the Vicar and his 
family had made one observation which w r as important. One of 
the principal proprietors in the neighbourhood was an old noble- 
man, Lord Stromness, who only came there occasionally, and wae 
very little known to anybody, except by his personal appearance. 


176 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


He had a pew in Underwood church > and that was almost the 
only place where the Vicar had ever seen him : his lordship 
would appear there once or twice a-year, generally about partridge- 
shooting ; he was in the habit of shaking hands with the Vicar 
and bowing to Mrs. Medlicott ; that was all they knew about 
Lord Stromness. On this occasion he had come down after the 
rising of Parliament, and attended divine service as usual ; but it 
was not his presence that attracted the Vicar’s or Mrs. Medlicott’s 
attention (for his lordship was no more of a critic than any of the 
farmers), but that of a stranger by whom his lordship was ac- 
companied. Yet there was nothing at all extraordinary in the 
appearance of this gentleman, either : he was a grave elderly 
man, almost clerical in his dress. Mr. Medlicott merely noticed 
him as a stranger, and his wife (with her phrenological eye) be- 
cause he possessed the recommendation of what she termed a highly 
intellectual forehead. When the V icar came down from the pulpit, 
Lord Stromness paid him the usual civil attention, and the stranger 
made him a respectful obeisance also. This was all that occurred. 
The old nobleman and his friend were amongst the first who left the 
church. They had scarcely turned their backs before Mrs. Medli- 
cott was all eagerness to find out who the strange gentleman was. 

“ Somebody shooting with Lord Stromness,— said the Vicar. 

“ Do inquire who he is,” said his wife. 

“Ask the Sexton,” said the Vicar, “.while I take off my 
gown.” 

But all the Sexton knew was that Lord Stromness had a small 
party of sportsmen in the country with him, and he presumed 
the stranger was one of the number. The following day how- 
ever, the Vicar met an acquaintance of his, who knew everything 
that was going on within twenty miles round in the sporting 
world, and who informed him that the Lord Chancellor was one 
of Lord Stromness’s party, and was probably the stranger who 
had been at church with him, as the description answered the 
Chancellor’s person perfectly. Mrs. Medlicott wondered how he 
could have left the church without testifying, in some way or an- 
other, his admiration of the discourse he had heard. 

“ It was not prolix enough to please him,” said the Vicar. 

“ Something may come of it yet,” said his wife, musingly. 

“ A Crown living!” cried the Vicar ; “but could I conscien- 
tiously accept one, if it were offered me under such circumstan- 
ces, particularly as conscience was the subject of the sermcn?” 

“ Indeed, I think you might,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


177 


Reuben was of the opposite opinion. 

“ It’s a nice point.” said the Vicar, “ but I shall probably 
have full time to consult the casuists, and consider it fully.” 




CHAPTER VII. 

MR. MEDLICOTT MEETS ONE WHO IS AS VERSATILE AS HIMSELF. 

Reuben, returning to Cambridge, found that Primrose was flown. 
Hyacinth, though he had been so urgent with Reuben to em- 
brace the profession of the law, seemed in no great hurry him- 
self to enter it, for immediately after the appearance of his sketch 
of Dean Wyndham, he went abroad, and pursued his travels as 
far as Florence. Mrs. Mountjoy happened to be there at the time, 
which no doubt made the fair city on the Arno particularly agree- 
able to Hyacinth ; it contributed, indeed, he frankly acknowledg- 
ed, more to his contentment, than the presence of the Medicean 
goddess herself, “ for which, I suppose,” he said, in one of his 
letters home, “ I shall be put down by your artists and artistic 
people as little better than a Hun.” 

Reuben was greatly scandalised (as well became him) at the 
truant life his friend was leading, when he ought to have been 
almost as far advanced in his profession as Henry Winning. 
Primrose, indeed, seemed now to be carrying into practice one of 
the many little playful theories which he was in the habit of 
broaching from time to time, to exercise his wit, and lighten the 
weight of an idle hour. Among other things, he was wont to 
maintain that for rising in the world there was no better plan 
than to do nothing, provided you have once got a general repu- 
tation for talent. 

“ My notion is,” he used to argue, “ that it is better to rest 
on the character one has, than expose it to hazard, by continual- 
ly giving envy something to carp at. The men that succeed best 
are those who contrive to get a little clique about them, who cry 
them up not for what they actually do, but what they could do 
if they would only take the trouble. In those cliques, which are 
often exceedingly influential, active talent makes a very poor 
figure by the side of reputed cleverness. I was once of Sliak- 
speare’s opinion, that perseverance ‘ keeps honour bright but of 


178 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


late I am much inclined to think that honour is in more danger 
of being sullied than burnished by scouring. There are so many 
ways of disparaging anything actually done, and turning it against 
the doer. Any blockhead, for example, can deny one’s original- 
ity, and affirm that he met, elsewhere, everything one has said or 
written, or even that he himself supplied the hints or the mate- 
rials. If talent cannot be denied, what is so easy as to shake the 
head, and cry — ‘how indiscreet!’ or come in with a ‘yes, but 
that is all he can do.’ But the most approved plan of all is, to 
exclaim, ‘ Ah, if such a one (the hero of the clique) had handled 
the subject, if such a one had spoken, or written on such a 
theme!’ On the whole I conclude,” said Primrose, “that intel- 
lectual activity is more likely to injure a man than to serve him ; 
I am very much disposed in future to be more tender of my cap- 
ital than I have been, and live like a great many prosperous fel- 
lows about me, upon the interest of my reputation.” 

This was precisely what Master Hyacinth seemed to be now 
actually doing, having fortunately, besides the interest of his re- 
putation, the interest of a few thousand pounds to live on. Reu- 
ben was pained to see his friend so volatile, and had serious 
thoughts of writing him an admonitory letter — a step which it is 
to be regretted he did not take, as a remonstrance from him up- 
on that particular subject would have certainly deserved a place 
among the curiosities of literature. 

Primrose, however, was not the only acquaintance he had 
who stood much in need of a lecture on perseverance. As he 
was one day straying in the streets of Cambridge, probably mor- 
alising on this very point, he remarked a workman on a ladder 
painting an inscription over the door of a little shop, which seemed 
on the eve of being opened in some new line of business. While 
Reuben stood watching the operation, the name was completed, 
and to his astonishment it was Adolphe. Almost the next mo- 
ment he had the pleasure of meeting his old acquaintance of 
Hereford again. Adolphe darted out of his shop, with a cigar in 
his mouth, not much changed, except that his moustache was lar- 
ger, and his appearance that of a man who had been tossing 
about in this wicked world. Reuben was very happy to see the 
French shoemaker, and shook his hand cordially. 

“ Ah,” said Adolphe, “ you do not shake the hand like most 
0' your countrymen ; you give your hand as if your heart was in 
it. I am happy to meet you again : you were always a kind 
friend to me.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 179 

Reuben presumed he was about to set up again in his former 
trade. 

“ Ah, no ! he was now in the book line : he had at length, 
after repeated trials, discovered the career that suited his talents 
and his tastes ; he had found in himself two passions — he loved 
literature and lie loved merchandise ; the true career of everybody 
was the result of his passions : this was his theory, and it had 
made him what he now was, — a bookseller.” 

“ Where was mademoiselle his sister ? was she still living 
with Mrs. Winning ?” 

“ No, no ; she was married, married to a distinguished co- 
median in London ; she was settled in the world, and had a nice 
house at Bayswater.” 

“ I shall not fail to visit her whenever I go to town,” said 
Reuben. 

“ She will be proud to be visited by Monsieur.” 

It was a fortunate rencontre for Adolphe. Reuben deserved 
to have had his portrait taken by the first sign-painter in England, 
and hung over the door of the new shop, to reward the extraor- 
dinary pains he took to have it opened with tclat. He canvassed 
for customers ; he even wrote Adolphe’s advertisements for the 
newspapers ; advised him as to the stock of books he should pur- 
chase ; and incidentally put his name to one or two bills which 
were passed to the houses in Paternoster-row by which the orders 
for the books were taken. 

Mr. Medlicott was also Adolphe’s first customer. The book 
was a pocket edition of the poetry of Milton. It was a memora- 
ble purchase. Soon applying it to its purposed use, he took it 
with him the same evening in one of his lonely saunterings, and 
the first verses that met his eye stung him to the quick. It was 
the beautiful sonnet “ On being arrived at the age of twenty- 
three 


“How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, 
Stol’n on his wing my three and twentieth year! 
My hasting days fly on with full career, 

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th. 
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, 
That I to manhood am arrived so near ; 

And inward ripeness doth much less appear, 
Than some more timely happy spirits endu’th. 
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, 

It shall be still in strictest measure even 
JTo that same lot, however mean or high, 

8 * 


180 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven : 

All is, if I have grace to use it so, 

As ever in my great Task-master’s eye.” 

He read a great mass of divinity for a few weeks following 
the reading of that sonnet ; he plunged deep into biblical litera- 
ture and Church history ; mastered the elements of Hebrew, and 
began to wonder at the little interest he had hitherto taken in 
sacred studies. In fact, many a young man is admitted to orders 
with a much scantier knowledge of divinity than Reuben ac- 
quired in this brief paroxysm of study. During a whole fortnight 
he never saw his protege, the bookseller, except for an hour oc- 
casionally in the evening, when he would drop into his shop, by 
way of relaxation, or to inquire how the business was prospering. 
On one of these occasions, he found the lively young Frenchman 
sitting on his counter, playing the flageolet, just as he had found 
him afc Hereford in the beginning of their acquaintance, when he 
traded in shoes. Some University men came in while Reuben 
was there ; but, to his surprise, instead of asking for books, they 
inquired for cigars, and Adolphe supplied their wants from some 
boxes, w 7 hich Reuben had not noticed before. There was a little 
theory ready to account for this union of trades. The literature 
of tobacco was very curious. Reuben thought it was possible it 
might be so ; but he began to think, also, as he returned to his 
chambers, that his friend Adolphe was not much more constant 
to one pursuit than he was himself. 

The three-and-twentieth anniversary of the nativity of Reuben 
came. The Vicar procured him a nomination to a curacy in 
Chichester. The Bishop of a neighbouring diocese, an excellent 
man, who had often been friendly to Mr. Medlicott, was soon to 
hold an ordination, and it was the earnest wish of Reuben’s 
friends that he should sieze the opportunity, and present himself 
for admission into orders. But now came one of his fits of lan- 
guor and indecision, unhappily much more frequent than his 
starts of energy and determination. He doubted the complete- 
ness of his preparation ; there were many points on which he had 
not yet made up his mind ; he had not examined himself with 
sufficient strictness and solemnity to discover whether he enter- 
tained that sincere desire for the pastoral office, and fitness for its 
duties, without which he had all along been resolved never to 
take the obligations of a clergyman upon him. In this there 
was some conscientiousness, but there was more indolence. The 
Vicar was morose ; til 3 Dean was violent, as usual, and intended- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


181 


to write liis grandson a philippic, but, being otherwise much oc- 
cupied, he devolved the duty on Mrs. Wyndham, through whose 
mild medium the indignation of his grandfather reached Reuben 
in a very diluted form. A pile of letters on the subject lay on 
his table from the different members of his family. There were 
two or three from his mother ; at first she had been disposed to 
blame him with some asperity, in common with his father, but 
her later epistles were in an altered tone. It appeared that she 
had come round to her son’s opinion, that the delay of a year or 
so could be of little consequence, as he was still so young a man, 
and could easily employ the interval to so much advantage in the 
cultivation of pulpit oratory. 

In the midst of all this to-do about ordination, (for the subject 
made a great noise at Underwood, though very little in the world 
at large,) Mrs. Mountjoy had returned from the continent, and 
taken lodgings in London. Reuben shortly after went up to 
town to pass the season with her. This was his first visit to the 
great metropolis ; and his mother trusted he would not neglect 
so good an opportunity for taking lessons in elocution from some 
of those experienced professors of that art, whose advertisements 
she had frequently observed in the public journals. 


182 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS *, 




BOOK THE FIFTH. 


Suds. “Why, I wont to be made an orator on, and to speak speech**, I tell you, at 
our meetings, about politics and peace, and addresses, and the new bridg e, and all thorn 
kind of things.” 

Foote. “ Why, with your happy talents, I should think much might be done.” 

Suds. “ I am proud to hear you say so. I did speechify once at a vestry concerning 
new-lettering the church-buckets, and came off cutely enough ; and to say the truth, 
that was the thing that provoked me to go to Pewterer’s Hall .’ — The Orators. 


ARGUMENT. 

If we were to offer advice to a reader, as Lord Shaftesbury lias done to 
an author, we should begin by strenuously urging him to cultivate the 
excellent virtue of humility, so to avoid the too common presumption of 
cocking up his own little private opinions upon all occasions against the 
judgment of the writer, fancying if the pen had been in his own fingers 
how much better matters would have been managed, like a village poli- 
tician pooh-poohing a cabinet minister; or as if a court of Pie-poudre 
were to review a decree of the Court of Chancery. 

“ God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, 

Love, charity, obedience, and true duty.” 

\ 

A sensible reader will take things as he finds them in the book in his 
hand, very much as a wise man makes up his mind to take things as they 
are in human life, jogging along with the nymph Goodhumour hanging 
on his arm, — the best companion, rely upon it, for getting through a 
book as well as for getting through the world. We do not advise the 
reader, nor anybody else, to go to school to Diogenes in his tub ; the 
seminary we do recommend is that where we were trained ourselves, 
that which was founded ages ago in Greece by that cheerful philosopher, 
who not only held, with Sir Toby, that “life consists of the four ele- 
ments,” but was much inclined also to Sir Andrew’s opinion, that good 
fellowship entered largely into the composition, though perhaps he did 
not lay it down so broadly as the boozy knight in the inimitable play. 
Nor let it be thought that in recommending the school of Democritus we 
would wish to see the faces of our audience “wearing a universal grin,” 
as that of Natui * did upon the day of Tom Thumb’s victory. The philo- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


183 


eophy of Abdera consisted in the habit of looting at the sunny side of 
things, not in the idle trick of giggling like a girl, or laughing like a 
clown in a pantomime. Be as grave as you will, provided there is no 
sourness in your gravity, and you graciously receive what is honestly 
intended to please you. Let it be in chemistry as it may, very little, 
morally speaking, is to be done by the action of the acids. Hannibal is 
the only personage on record who ever gained an advantage by vinegar. 
If we authors are expected to have honey on our lips, that our periods 
may flow mellifluously, surely our readers ought to have honey in their 
hearts, that their judgments may run sweetly. Ah, that honey of the 
mind is a heavenly quality — 

** Aerii mellis celestia dona" 

You will not be the worse critic, if you must be of that quorum, for hav- 
ing all Hybla within you. As to write with bitterness is no mark of an 
able author, so to read with bitterness is as little a characteristic of the 
judicious reader. We are your hosts; you are our guests, and we pray 
you to remember the duties, obligations, and responsibilities incumbent 
upon you by virtue of that jovial relationship. You are bound to come 
to us with an unwrinkled brow and a bright eye, arraying your inner 
man in some festive suit made of cloth of sunshine, if it is to be had ; all 
urbanity and complaisance, proving yourself a gentle and gracious reader 
in reality, as you undoubtedly are by the forms and courtesy of the world 
of letters. Away, then, with all exceptions to our story, or any chapter, 
or subdivision of it. We pronounce them ill-humoured and unmannerly. 
If our incidents are objected to, we declare it frivolous and vexatious ; if 
anybody assails our characters, we call it calumny and detraction ; while, 
as to the rate of our progress, we assert our indefeasible right to travel 
at what pace we please, whether by electric telegraph, or on the back of 
a tortoise. Nor do we sit here in our chair of state to answer inquisitive 
people, popping all manner of questions — our motive for this— our reason 
for that — in short, why we have written the present book and not a dif- 
ferent one. Our book is our Republic, and we are President of it. Why, 
we might, if it so pleased us, strike a coup-de-plume , trample all human 
obligations under our feet, butcher one-half of our characters in cold 
blood, transport the residue to some equatorial swamp, producing only 
red pepper and yellow fever ; leaving our “ tale half told,” like “ the 
story of Cambuscan bold,” or that other bard who 

“broke off in the middle 
Th’ adventure of the bear and fiddle 

and, if the book has had any subscribers, confiscating their purchase- 
money, or picking their pockets, with a sufficient number erf “considera- 
tions,” like the estate of the plundered house of Orleans. 


184 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS : 


CHAPTER L 

BURLINGTON GARDENS. 

Mrs. Mountjoy resided in Burlington Gardens. Mr. Primrose, 
who had also returned from abroad, took chambers in the 
Albany. 

Mrs. Mountjoy’s opinion upon such a subject was perhaps not 
the best worth having ; but she was decidedly of opinion that 
Reuben had acted wisely in postponing, for a short time, his en- 
trance into a profession so very serious as the Church. Possibly 
she took rather a secular view of the matter, but she thought she 
was doing her nephew a solid service in giving him some little 
insight into the gay world, before his entrance into a profession 
which, to a great extent, must necessarily separate him from it 
for ever. The widow was fond of the world, it must be owned, 
but it was in as unworldly a way as ever the world was loved in ; 
for she was much less anxious about enjoying its pleasures her- 
self, than to make others partakers of them. 

“ I can’t help thinking, Mr. Primrose,” she said, “ that a cler- 
gyman ought to be acquainted with life in all its varieties, even 
a little with its pleasures and amusements, if it were only to en- 
able him to form a just estimate of their vanity ; at the same 
time I am very far from thinking that the vainest things in this 
world are its enjoyments — at least the only class of enjoyments 
to which I would wish to introduce my nephew.” 

Primrose fully concurred in this opinion, and pushed it fur- 
ther, with his usual love of paradox, by observing that “he could 
not understand how a divine was to teach mankind to abjure 
the pomps and vanities of human life without having previously 
made himself perfectly master by experience of all that it was his 
duty to rebuke and discountenance. Of course,” he added, feel- 
ing that he was overstraining the point, “ I do not mean exactly 
to say, that a man ought to go through a formal course of dis- 
sipation to qualify him for the pulpit.” 

“ Oh, of course not,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, “ I never could have 
dreamed you meant any such thing. At all events, the kind of 
dissipation I propose to practise and encourage, will, in my hum- 
ble opinion, do no young man any harm. With your assistance 
I hope, while I remain in England, we shall manage to have * 
great many rational and agreeable evenings in this house.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 185 

“We must look after Henry Win ling,” said Reuben, coming 
in at the moment and joining the cor versation. 

There was no difficulty in finding Winning, for his chambers 
were now almost as well known at the Temple as those of His 
Majesty’s Attorney General. 

The gravity of his profession sat well upon Reuben’s first 
friend and steadfast protector at Finchley. Winning was now 
a fair specimen of the rising young lawyer. His forehead was 
broad and fair, his well-opened eye was calm and penetrating, 
his manner was frank and bold, his voice was remarkable for dis- 
tinctness, strength, and volume. His room was literally nothing 
but a hollow cube full of books and papers. The ceiling was 
the only side which was not covered with them. His table was 
well provided with briefs, though it did not yet groan beneath 
them ; and finally he had arrived at the state and dignity of 
keeping a clerk and possessing an antechamber. 

With all this, Henry Winning was a very agreeable member 
of society, conversed with spirit, kept up a tolerable acquaintance 
with the current literature and events of the day, was very eco- 
nomical of bar anecdotes, and never made a pun in his life. Mrs. 
Mountjoy received him cordially on Reuben’s account, and was 
soon happy to know him upon her own. 

That handsome and excellent lady had a very fair notion of 
enjoying existence, whether she lived in Paris', Florence or Lon- 
don. She would willingly have led a social and convivial life 
had Reuben been beyond the great wall of China, but his pres- 
ence in the character of her guest made gaiety, in her opinion, a 
sort of duty, and accordingly she laid herself out to be more than 
usually hospitable and entertaining in Burlington Gardens. 
Quiet little jovial dinners were what she most delighted in, and 
she proposed to diversify them with suppers of the same charac- 
ter, after an opera or a comedy. Her desire was to have every- 
thing perfect, or as perfect as possible, which ought to be the 
object of all of us in other things as well as dinners and suppers, 
which, however, are none of the least interesting and important 
affairs of life. 

“ Would that De Tabley were here,” cried Reuben ; “lie un- 
derstands these matters infinitely better than 1 do, or, I believe, 
Primrose either.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy was curious to know who De Tabley was. 

“ One of our first men,” said Primrose, “ in gastronomic 
science. If cooking was hono ired like mathematics, he would 


186 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


take a first wranglership. Some men are destined to be pillars 
of the State, some of the Church : De Tabley was born to sup- 
port, maintain, and defend the British Kitchen.” 

Reuben added the better points of the character, so that Mrs. 
Mountjoy could not but desire to make Mr. De Tabley’s acquaint- 
ance as soon as possible. 

There was no occasion, however, to invite him to London; 
he was in town at the time, having his eye upon a good sine- 
cure place under government, which he hoped soon to enjoy, 
through the influence of his uncle and other parliamentary con- 
nections. In short, the gay widow soon had all the Hereford 
boys of her nephew’s acquaintance about her, and a very at- 
tractive centre she made to the clever and agreeable group. 

But, as this was not her novitiate in London, she had a large 
acquaintance already, and it included a number of humdrum 
people — very rich some, very respectable most of them — but none 
of them possessing the qualities suited to her present views, or 
rather those of her new ministry. Reuben’s unsophisticated no- 
tions of men and of society were now of signal service. Now 
it was that he gave the first proof of his talents as a social re- 
former. In a very short time he succeeded in clearing his aunt’s 
salons of a multitude of nobodies, whom she had fallen into the 
habit of cultivating merely because she saw them cultivated by 
other people. Reuben would ask who such a person was — some 
stupid formal old bachelor, — take Mr. Leadenhall, for example. 

“That old gentleman, my dear,” Mrs. Mountjoy would an- 
swer, looking extremely serious; “he is a director of the East 
India Company, enormously rich, made of gold ; has a magnifi- 
cent house in Park-lane ; no end to his wealth — ingots, pearls and 
diamonds — quite incredible how rich he is.” 

“ Will he give any of his ingots and diamonds to us, my 
dear aunt ?” 

“No, my dear, of course not ; indeed, they say he is the 
most miserly old wretch in existence.” 

“ But his house in Park-lane — I suppose that is always open 
to his friends ; to you, for example,” proceeded her nephew. 

“ Open to nobody living, my dear, but one or two old Syba- 
rites like himself; he is the very personification of voluptuous 
selfishness.” 

“ Well, my dear aunt, if you are neither the better for his 
riches nor for his magnificent house; if you admit that he is sel- 
fish and worthless ; and if you do not pretend that he is agreea- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 187 

ble or clever, pray why do you court his acquaintance ? Of what 
earthly use is he to you, to me, or to anybody ?” 

“ Well, indeed, Reuben, when you put it in that light, I do 
not know what to say : I ask him because everybody else does ; 
I neither love him nor respect him. I’m sure — in short he is a 
very tiresome old man, and I shall never be at home to him 
again.” 

“ He will be no loss,” said Reuben. 

“ But then what is one to do ?” continued Mrs. Mountjoy ; 
“ how is one to choose one’s society ?” 

“ On two principles, aunt — nobody is worth knowing except 
for his talents or his virtues — his moral grandeur or his intellectual 
celebrity.” 

“ My dear boy,” said the fair widow, “ would you have me 
turn everybody out of my house but yourself and Mr. Primrose ?” 

Reuben smiled, thanked his aunt for so handsome a compli- 
ment, and said he feared his rule would indeed proscribe a great 
many persons of her acquaintance. 

“ I am sure,” she said, “ Sir Finch Goldfinch has neither vir- 
tue nor talent.” 

“ He has got a box at the opera which he never lends you, 
and he gives a ponderous dinner now and then that bores you to 
death ; in return for which favours you load him with all kinds 
of hospitable attentions, merely because he is Sir Finch Gold- 
finch.” 

“ I must plead guilty, my dear ; but I’ll send him packing 
with Mr. Leadenhall.” 

“Do now, like a dear good sensible aunt, and cashier Sir Al- 
lan De Bray and Lord Greenwich at the same time; the latter is 
a mere lord, and the other a mere baronet.” 

“ And only a baronet of Nova Scotia, my dear.” 

“Which makes the case against him perfectly irresistible,” 
said Reuben, smiling ; “ and now don’t you think, my dear aunt, 
we might throw a few ladies overboard with advantage ?” 

“ Let them all go, if you please, my love,” said Mrs. Mount- 
joy, “I don’t give balls, only dinners; so a circle of men is what 
I want ; you and Mr. Primrose, must go elsewhere for beauties 
and fortunes.” \ 

So it was arranged. Mrs. Mountjoy, in fact, gave Reuben a 
carte blanche to fill her rooms with men of intellectual renown 
and moral grandeur ; but as such fruit grows not on every tree, he 
was forced to put up for some time with company not quite so 


188 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


distinguished. The first set consisted of Mr. Araby, a handsome 
young clergyman, the author of “Melancthon” in twenty books; 
Mr. Bavard, a talkative and parasitical doctor, who held the dis- 
tinguished office of family physician in the household of the Earl 
of Powderliam; — these were the nominees of Mr. Primrose. De 
Tabley brought his uncle, a veteran dandy and old clubbist, who 
represented at that time the borough of Breech es-Pocket. Win- 
ning contributed a couple of loquacious barristers, and there was 
a certain Captain Shunfield, of the Guards, who got in by some 
means or other, nobody well knew how. 

When Reuben reviewed his troops, he felt almost as much 
ashamed of them as Falstaff was of his regiment, and could not 
but feel that he had turned out the Leadenhalls and Goldfinches 
without getting much better men in their place. The dinner 
days were Wednesdays and Saturdays. On Sundays Mrs. Mount- 
joy, Reuben, Primrose, and Winning excluded all the rest of the 
world. The remaining days were open, and for these Mrs. Mount- 
joy felt herself quite at liberty to accept agreeable invitations when 
she received them. Reuben used -often, in his latter days, to re- 
late the little incidents of his aunt’s first entertainment in Burling- 
ton Gardens. One of these was the following : — Mrs. Mountjoy 
received a note from Winning in the morning, requesting permis- 
sion to bring his friend, little Master Turner, with him to dinner. 
Reuben and Primrose were astonished and indignant at a request 
so monstrously unreasonable; Mrs. Mountjoy was very unhappy; 
but at length her good-nature and regard for Winning prevailed 
over other considerations, and she returned a civil answer, saying, 
that she would be happy to receive Mr. Winning and his young 
friend. When the dinner-hour came, old De Tabley was one of 
the earliest arrivals, and Mrs. Mountjoy commissioned his nephew 
to prepare him for what was to happen. The old gentleman, 
not over fond of children at any time, was scarcely able to con- 
ceal his annoyance, and fidgeted about the room until Mrs. 
Mountjoy almost feared he would leave the house. Reuben 
looked on like a philosopher, not a little annoyed by all the fuss 
that he saw made about the seemingly trivial occurrence of a lit- 
tle boy accidentally brought to a dinner-party. When Mr. Win- 
ning and Master Turner were announced, a comic painter could 
not have had a better subject than the company presented, par- 
ticularly the figure of old Tabley, "who stood in the centre of the 
room, perfectly rigid, his features puckered up with the acrimony 
of his feelings, and his eye-glass intently fixed upon the door. 


OR, THE' COMING MAN. 189 

The object of all this alarm proved the next moment to be a 
little master, indeed, but only a Master in Chancery. 

“A pleasant opening,” said Primrose aside to the widow, “of 
yo ir London campaign.” But the pleasantry all evaporated in 
that one trivial occurrence, and notwithstanding all the preparation 
for an agreeable dinner, it turned out one of the dullest that ever 
was given. For a long time nobody could talk for Mr. Bavard, 
which provoked no one so much as Mrs. Mountjoy, who was 
anxious that her nephhew should come forward, and had no no- 
tion of giving dinners for Mr. Bavard to shine at. Reuben would 
probably have spoiled the dinner himself, if it had not been done 
for him by the parasitical and prating doctor, who, by virtue of 
his longer experience, possessed the assurance and pertinacity 
which our “coming man” had yet to acquire. 

At length, having exhausted all other topics, Doctor Bavard 
began to hold forth upon the art of conversation itself (in which 
he was such an adept), and said, among other things, that it was 
like Nature, and abhorred a vacuum, upon which Winning quick- 
ly and pointedly added that “ it more resembled Commerce, for 
it abhorred monopoly.” 

“ And Law,” said Master Turner, following up the blow, “ for 
it is averse to perpetuities.” 

“Attica and Laconia in close alliance,” said Reuben, with 
some pomposity, “but war to the knife with Thebes.” 

And having thus got what the French call the “ parole,” he 
kept possession of it with a tenacity of purpose worthy of a better 
cause; beginning with Plutarch’s Apothegms, and ending with 
the Facetiae of Ilierocles, not one of which would he probably 
have left untold, if he had not been suddenly cut short by a hint 
to pass the bottle, which had been standing stock still while his 
tongue had been running so volubly. The pause delighted every- 
body save Mrs. Mountjoy, whose admiration for Reuben was such 
that she could have heard him talk for ever with satisfaction. 

“ However, I agree with Mr. Bavard, that conversation is a 
mere art,” said Captain Shunfield, filling his glass: “I have met 
with works on the subject.” 

‘ Have you found them practically useful?” said Primrose 
cruelly. 

“ Well,” said the Captain, “ I think I picked up some good 
hints.” 

“ I’ll tell you what the art of agreeable conversation consists 
in,” continued Hyacinth, getting the start of Bavard, who was 


190 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


preparing to begin again ; “ it consists in being agreeable to too 
present at the expense of the absent.” 

“ A good definition of tea-table talk,” said Reuben. 

“ Apropos to that,” said Bavard, but got no further. 

“ Does not a great deal depend upon the accompaniments, as 
in music ?” said George De Tabley : “ the accompaniment of a 
good dinner, for instance.” 

“Depend upon it there is,” said Primrose. “Just for a mo- 
ment imagine the dishes and wines before us swept away by 
magic, and the Barmecide’s feast in its place, or Timon’s last din- 
ner to his summer friends.” 

“I remember an anecdote,” said Bavard, 

“ I should not undertake to be witty under such circum- 
stances,” said old De Tabley. 

“ Nor I, positively,” said the guardsman. 

“ Apropos ,” said Mr. Bavard, but was again cut short, 

for Reuben began to recollect his astrology, and observed that to 
make society perfect, Mercury ought to be in conjunction with 
Bacchus. 

“Unfortunately there is no such planet,” said Winning. 

There must be a planet Bacchus,” said Primrose, “ or I should 
blush for the Copernican system. It will be discovered one of 
these days.” 

“All very prettily observed,” said Master Turner; “but per- 
haps I may venture to improve upon what has been said by 
recollecting the advantage which we now enjoy of a conjunction 
between Mercury and Bacchus in the house of another planet, 
and a fair one.” 

“ They ought to be in trine,” said Reuben. 

“Why, I think your nephew is an astrologer,” said old De 
Tabley, addressing Mrs. Mountjoy, and laughing heartily. 

“I have read a little on the subject,” said Reuben, slightly 
colouring. 

Winning glanced at Primrose, as much as to say, What is 
there about which he has not read something ? 

With the exception of this little trifling conversation, which 
took place towards the end of the dinner, the day was a decided 
failure. As to Mr. Bavard, Reuben made an enemy of him for 
life, but he was compensated by the golden opinions he won from 
Master Turner, who extolled him highly to Mrs. Mountjoy; and 
having learned from her who he was, took Reuben aside just before 
he retired, and astonished him very much by saying, “ I have not 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


191 


the pleasure of knowing your father, but I heard the Chancellor 
say, not long ago, that the best sermon he ever heard in his life, 
was one delivered by a Mr. Medlicott, in a country church near 
Chichester ; if you are the son of that distinguished gentleman 
and eminent divine, allow me to congratulate you.” 


CHAPTER II. 

NOT IMPORTANT, BUT NOT LONG. 

Primrose often breakfasted with Mrs. Mountjoy : he did so on 
the day after the dinner related in the last chapter. Reuben 
mentioned what Master Turner had said to him, and told the 
story of his grandfather’s sermon, which diverted his aunt and 
his friend extremely. 

“ By the by,” said Primrose, “ where is the Dean at present?” 

Reuben knew nothing about him. 

Mrs. Mountjoy knew just as little. There was nothing extra- 
ordinary in this, for no man had so many whereabouts, between 
his ecclesiastical duties, his university connections, and his private 
affairs and speculations. 

“But,” said the widow, “ it is so long now since I have heard 
of my father, that I begin to grow a little uneasy. I wonder 
where we would be most likely to hear something about him?” 

“Well,” said Primrose, “the Barsacs are connected with a 
house in the city — Barsac and Upjohn — perhaps by inquiring 
there we might pick up some information.” 

Reuben and Primrose walked towards the city, through as 
thick a fog as encompassed JEneas when he visited Carthage. 
When they had got as far as the Temple, the darkness was actu- 
ally Cimmerian, so they abandoned their purpose, but thought 
they might as well call upon Winning. 

“ If it were not for the fog,” said Winning, “I should say I 
was glad to see you.” 

“ Suppose a bill payable at sight were dishonoured on a day 
like this, could an action be maintained ?” asked Primrose. 

“By the custom of London, I suppose it could;” said Win- 
ning, groping about in the obscurity for chairs to accommodate 
his friends. He then stirred up his fire, which made the geo- 


192 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 

graphy of his chambers rather more distinguishable than 
before. 

Winning, as we have stated, had all the qualities for the bar, 
on which Dean Wyndham had expatiated — the head, the lungs, 
the stomach — and Reuben and Primrose now had a proof, while 
they sat with him, that he possessed the element of bulldoggism 
also ; for an attorney happened to call who had neglected to pre- 
pare some important proofs which had been advised by Winning, 
and the latter gave him such a rating that Reuben and Primrose 
concluded there must necessarily be an end to all professional 
connection between them. 

“ On the contrary,” said Winning, “ he will send me more 
business than ever. This is my way of entertaining the attor- 
neys.” 

“ Upon my word,” said Reuben, M it costs much less than 
entertaining them at dinner.” 

“ I reserve that for my private friends,” said Winning ; “ you 
must both dine with me to-morrow at the Rainbow.” 

Primrose was prevented by an engagement. Reuben dined 
with Winning tete-a-tete. 

“ You heard me give a fellow a scolding the other day,” said 
Winning during dinner. 

“ I never heard such abuse,” said Reuben, “ since you abused 
me for learning the flageolet. I suppose the case is a very 
heavy one.” 

“Who do you think is the defendant?” said Winning in a 
serious tone — “ a near relative of yours.” 

Reuben was unable to guess. 

“Your grandfather !” 

The young barrister then told his friend in strict confidence 
more about his grandfather’s private affairs than it was pleasant 
to hear. Winning was counsel for an architect who was bring- 
ing an action against the Dean, arising out of the contract for 
the new buildings and terraces at Hereford, of which the reader 
has heard something already. One item in the bill of particulars 
was five hundred pounds for the erection of the fountain, which 
Blanche Barsac had suggested for the ornament of the square 
bearing her maiden name. Reuben was shocked at this intelli- 
gence. He had been led to believe that the influence of Mrs. 
Wyndham had cured his grandfather of his unhappy mania, and 
now he found that his affairs were more embarrassed by it than 
ever, to the extent of even exposing to obloquy his character as 


OR. THE COMING MAN. 


193 


a clergyman and dignitary of the Church, for the Dean was 
actually residing at Boulogne, to keep “ the perilous narrow sea” 
between his sacred person and his creditors. 

“However,” added Winning, “I ha/e the satisfaction to in- 
form you that matters are not quite as bad as they look, for my 
private opinion is that the case will not go to trial ; I have reason 
to think that your grandfather’s friends have proposed an ar- 
rangement which will keep things quiet, at least for some little 
time. 

“ The Barsacs, I presume ?” said Reuben. 

“ Yes,” said Winning, — “ I suppose you know that the Bar- 
sacs are in town.” 

“No, — Primrose and I were on a voyage of discovery to find 
their house in the City, when we were lost in the fog-bank off 
Temple Bar ” 

“ I know nothing of their house in the City,” said Winning, 
“but they have lately taken a splendid one in Portland Place, 
where they are beginning to live with their usual discreet extra- 
vagance, and calculating hospitality.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy no sooner heard of her father’s difficulties, so 
far exceeding all she had ever imagined, than she was very un- 
happy ; and instantly resolving not to be behind the Barsacs in 
contributing to his assistance, she commissioned Mr. Primrose to 
call on the merchant, without delay, and acquaint him with her 
wishes and instructions. Barsac, however, would hear of noth- 
ing of the kind ; he treated the proceedings against “ his very 
reverend relative” with the utmost contempt, said his liabilities 
were mere trifles, some paltry thousands or so, not worth men- 
tioning ; in short, he had taken the liberty to arrange the matter 
himself in a friendly way during “ his very reverend relative’s” 
temporary absence on the continent. Barsac avoided mention- 
ing the particular spot chosen by the Dean for his foreign resi- 
dence, which Mr. Primrose thought extremely discreet on the 
part of Mr. Barsac. 

The Barsacs were delighted to find that Mrs. Mountjoy was 
in town, hoping through her interest to make their way in Lon- 
don society more rapidly than they had hitherto succeeded in 
doing ; and they were highly gratified also at the opportunity of 
reviving their old acquaintance with Reuben and Primrose, but 
especially with Mr. De Tabley. 

The Barsacs had not boen long in London without discover- 
ing that they were not of the same significance there as they had 
9 


194 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 

been in a place like Hereford. At the same time, with a good 
income, the disposition to be gay, and a decided interest in 
gaiety, they had no great difficulty in surrounding their dinner- 
table with guests, and filling their house with well-dressed people. 
Their drawing-rooms held some two hundred people — a number 
far exceeding the utmost range of their London acquaintance. 
The parlours were hung with family portraits, which gave Barsac 
occasion for continually remarking that they were not his ances- 
tors ; from which you were of course to infer that some other 
mansion contained that interesting gallery of pictures. In short 
the house suited them perfectly, and they laid themselves out for 
enjoying themselves in it, blending pleasure and profit together, 
in the laudable spirit of Mrs. Gilpin. If Mrs. Mountjoy was de- 
pendent upon Reuben and his old schoolfellows for her success 
in Burlington Gardens, still more were the Barsacs upon the 
same allies for the execution of their designs in Portland-place. 
To Reuben and his aunt, as near connections, their house was 
thrown open as a matter of course, but De Tabley, Primrose, 
and Winning, were soon requested to consider themselves on the 
same familiar footing ; and the next step in the progress of this 
hearty though interested hospitality, went very nearly the length 
of conveying the same intimation to all Mi's. Mountjoy’s friends 
and acquaintance, old and new, not forgetting Mr. Leadenhall, 
Sir Finch Goldfinch, and Lord Greenwich. 

“ I must do the Barsacs the justice to say,” said Primrose, 
“ that they are not deficient in gratitude ; we often did them the 
honour of supping with them at Hereford, and it is quite right 
they should return our civilities in dinners in Lpndon .” 

“ But now, remember,” said Mi’s. Mountjoy, w I shall never 
sacrifice my Wednesdays and Saturdays to their ponderous fa- 
tiguing dinners.” 

“ I have settled all that,” said Primrose. “ Let Mrs. Barsac 
attempt a dinner on a Wednesday or Saturday at her peril.” 

While they were speaking, two cards, each containing a rood 
of pasteboard arrived, with formal notifications of a dinner and 
ball at Portland-place ; the dinner for a Tuesday, the ball on the 
following evening. 

“ That will do,” said Primrose. 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, “the ball won’t interfere with our 
dinner here.” 

“ I don’t think I shall go to the ball,” said Reuben. 

“Not go to the ball,” cried Hyacinth. “ 1 love a ball ; a ball 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


195 


is a mob of youth and beauty. I love to see the fans flattering, 
the ankles twinkling, the bouquets waving, the diamonds spark- 
ling, and the eyes out-beaming them.” 

“ There is no conversation at a ball,” said Reuben. 
u You would like to address the mob,” said Hyacinth. 


CHAPTER HL 

* 

A SOCIAL BEVOLTTTION. 

Rejjben grew enthusiastic about those dinners of his aunt’s, and 
devoted himself, with all his energies, to make them perfect, and 
go off with eclat. He almost put himself to school under the 
Gunters and Soyers of the day, though no man was less of an 
epicure ; and though only a toper in theory, and chiefly conver- 
sant with Chian and Falernian, he took up the subject of wines 
practically, bought works upon the vineyards, and (as Primrose 
said) went about with a lantern, like Diogenes, looking for that 
truly noble work of God, an honest wine-merchant. The same 
pains he took with every convivial arrangement ; tried tables of 
all shapes and sizes, squares, rounds, and ovals ; made experi- 
ments with all sorts of lamps and candles ; actually invented a 
new kind of chair for dinner ; suggested a decided improvement 
in corkscrews ; almost broke his aunt in the beauties and novel- 
tits of glass and china ; and threatened to dismiss footmen if the 
sound of a foot was heard on the carpet. Then he investigated 
profoundly the much-agitated and yet undecided question of the 
number of guests proper or necessary to make a banquet most 
successful ; and alternately astonished and amused Mrs. Mount- 
joy by the incredible trouble he went to, lest the sexes should not 
be justly balanced — lest the slightest discordant element should 
find its way into the party ; and even to guard against the pos- 
sibility of the guests sitting down out of the prescribed and pre- 
determined order. 

No sooner had this active and volatile genius, with no little 
expense of thought and anxiety, with considerable physical as 
well as mental exertion and a very serious expense to his fair 
relative, brought all this social and convivial machinery as near 
perfection as perhaps it was practicable to bring it, than he sud- 


196 


THE UNIVER. AL GENIUS t 


denly threw it all up, discovering, or having it brought unto nira 
in some dream or revelation, that regular dining was waste of 
time, and totally irreconcilable with vigour of mind and body. 
He begs to speak slightingly of claret and champagne, to dis- 
parage French cookery, cry up mutton chops, and magnify tea 
and coffee, and bread and butter. 

“ He is not even constant to his dinner,” cried Primrose. 

“ The man who will not stick to that will stick to nothing,” 
said Winning, not, however, in quite as serious a tone as Prim- 
rose’s. 

De Tabley said very little, but what he did say was solemn 
and bitter, with the air of a man who felt more than he had words 
to express. 

“ What most surprises me,” resumed Winning, “ is, that Med- 
licott should quarrel with the table, just as he was beginning to 
get a little character in London for conversation.” 

“ He w r as beginning to talk a great deal too much,” said 
Primrose, who had never before dealt hardly with Reuben’s blem- 
ishes. 

“ He soliloquises, he lectures, he cannot be said to converse,” 
said De Tabley ; “ however I could have forgiven that ; I don’t 
talk much myself at dinner.” 

Reuben had better have attempted any revolution than one in 
the dining-room. 

Mrs. Mountjoy, amiable Mrs. Mountjoy, was only too complai- 
sant, too accommodating, as usual ; always ready to sacrifice her 
own enjoyments and plans to the pleasure and convenience of those 
she loved as she did her nephew. It was not, indeed, a case for 
teare, or even for sighs ; but had it been such, Mrs. Mountjoy 
would have wept and sighed in secret 

If there was one man living less excusable than another for 
forgetting the maxim, that “ there is a time for all things,” that 
man was Mr. Medlicott, the lesson had been so diligently inculcated 
on him by his old schoolmistress, Mrs. Hopkins ; but he was now 
either so oblivious or neglectful of it, that in the midst of the 
pleasures of London, and the guest of his aunt who laid herself 
out to introduce him into all its gaieties, nothing would serve him 
but to work within an inch of his life. The truant of Cambridge 
became a model student in Burlington Gardens, and good, easy 
Mrs. Mountjoy soon had business enough on her hands making 
arrangements for the indulgence of this new and most unseasona- 
ble freak. He sent to Cambridge for all his books, even the ency* 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


197 


cloposdia which Mr. Cox had made him a present of. His aunt 
assisted him with her own hands to arrange his library in his 
chamber ; pitying, all the time, the poor head destined to be 
freighted with so huge a cargo of learning. Reuben attempted to 
make her understand his mother’s doctrine of the boundless ex- 
pansiveness of the human understanding, but to very little pur- 
pose. She had, however, so high an opinion of the severity of 
intellectual pursuits that she thought it indispensable to do all in 
her power to mitigate it by the most luxurious arrangements she 
could devise. She provided Reuben with the cosiest arm-chairs 
she could procure ; he had two of them constructed upon differ- 
ent principles, one with an apparatus attached for supporting 
books, and even for writing, should the student feel inclined to 
compose in a recumbent or languishing posture. Beside the 
chairs, there was a soft spacious sofa, on which he might dispread 
himself, when it was his fancy to lie on his back, or his face, read- 
ing or writing. There was a superb library-table with a desk in 
the centre of the room, and a smaller moveable one besides, which 
he might moor by the fire-side when he was cold, or station near 
the window on a foggy morning. There was also a tall desk to 
read at standing, when the soft chairs and sofas were too hard for 
him. For his books he had a revolving receptacle with several 
sides to it, which he could wheel round with a touch of his finger, 
so as to enable him to change his studies in a twinkling — a de- 
vice of his aunt’s, which she must surely have introduced under 
the impression that Reuben was in danger of narrowing his mind 
by devoting himself too doggedly to some limited course of read- 
ing. Finally, she presented him with the most charming dress- 
ing-gown and slippers of black velvet, an appropriate morning 
toilette for a young man studying for holy orders. In short, she 
omitted nothing that ingenuity, quickened by affection, and sof- 
tened by feminine delicacy, could suggest to assuage “ the sorrows 
of a poor young man” condemned to the mines of theological 
learning. 

“ And now, my dear,” she said, about to leave him to him- 
self for the first time, after installing him in all this luxury, “ is 
there anything more I can do to make your little study comforta- 
ble ? I trust you will not hesitate to mention it, if anything 
occurs to you.” 

“ My dear aunt, it is only too complete ; if there is a fault, it 
is that my apartment is too comfortable. IIow Primrose will 
laugh to see me in this magnificent robe-de-chambre , probably as 
rich was ever worn by a Cardinal.” 


198 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS,’ 

“ 1 hope and trust, my dear, you will find it warm ; — ' but does 
the light of the room suit you ? is it the proper colour ? the blinds 
might be pink, or violet, or rose-colour, whatever tint; in fact you 
please.” 

“ All is couleur-de-rose ,” said Reuben gallantly, “ in the society 
of my aunt Mountjoy.” 

She smiled, embraced him, and left him to his labours. 

Going to her own room, she next rang for Agatha, her maid, 
informed her with the greatest solemnity of the nature and im- 
portance of Reuben’s studies, and warned her to go up and down 
stairs with as light a step as possible during the early part of the 
day. 

“Mr. Medlicott,” she said, “will always study until four 
o’clock, except from two to half-past two, when he will take an 
early dinner. From four to six he will exercise ; at six he will 
take coffee ; and then he will resume his studies. I must insist 



“You had better, madam,” said the maid, “speak to the land- 
lady as well.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy took the hint, and down she went immediately 
to the landlady, and to her communicated also what the pursuits 
of her nephew were, and how momentous it was that silence, the 
most profound, should reign in the precincts of his bower. 

Tiiis was a pleasant nephew to have for a gay widow in gay 
lodgings, with gay dispositions and designs ! Fortunately, she 
had Mr. Primrose to take Reuben’s place at her side in prome- 
nades and at balls and concerts, or she might have found the 
London season hang heavy on her hands. As to Hyacinth, he 
was probably pleased with the onerous duties that devolved upon 
him in consequence of his friend’s perverseness, or he would have 
been more incensed at Reuben’s entire conduct at this period than 
he appears to have been. The dinners, however, though not so 
frequent, were not entirely given up. Though Reuben was too 
intellectual to dine at seven o’clock with a pleasant party, other 
people were not. There was generally one dinner in the week, 
at least ; and when Reuben condescended to appear Mrs. Mountjoy 
was in ecstacies, and loaded him with thanks, and even with 
more attention, and more devoted audience, than her invited 
guests. 

Though Mrs. Mountjoy probably enjoyed Mr. Primrose’s com- 
pany more, she was prouder of Reuben’s ; and whenever he pro- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


199 


posed to take her with him to the British Museum, to a lecture, 
a meeting of some learned or scientific society, or some ramble 
through the town to visit ancient nooks and corners, of which he 
was passionately fond, she was very unhappy when anything ab- 
solutely prevented her from accompanying him. Poor Mrs. 
Mountjoy ! she got more than one cold in public libraries, while 
Reuben was making extracts from dusty volumes ; and many a 
tune did she visit the Elgin Marbles, and the Albemarle-street 
Institution, when she would have greatly preferred a stroll to the 
Soho Bazaar, or shopping in the Burlington Arcade. 

In one of his excursions through London he met with a curi- 
ous proof of the success of one of his own literary efforts, though 
he was not personally the gainer by it He had taken his aunt 
with him into the city ; shown her the courts where Doctor John- 
son lodged : marched her through Clement’s Inn and the Temple 
Gardens ; then to Cock Lane, famed for the apparition ; from 
thence to Crosby Hall and Christ’s Hospital ; concluding the an- 
tiquarian ramble with a peep into Doctors’ Commons, and the 
Heralds’ College, or Menagerie, on St. Bennet’s Hill, where, in 
the little quadrangle of the latter quaint old institution (as remote 
from public view as from public utility), he happened to meet his 
old pupil Lord Appleby. 

Lord Appleby said he had been calling to see a common friend 
of theirs — no less a personage than Blue Mantle, pursuivant. 

Reuben had no notion he had the honour of knowing Blue 
Mantle. 

“ You may remember little Griffin,” said his lordship. 

“ To be sure. Blue Mantle is just the appointment to suit 
him : a snug thing, I dare say.” 

“ Five hundred a year, and little or no duty ; owes it en- 
tirely to his own talents and exertions, poor fellow. Wrote a pa- 
per on dragons and lions rampant ; attracted the attention of the 
Earl Marshal, who gave him the first thing he had to dispose of.” 

How indignant Mrs. Mountjoy was when Reuben informed 
her, after parting with Lord Appleby, of the real authorship of the 
article which had led to the advancement of the shabby and au- 
dacious little Mr. Griffin ! Her only comfort was, that she sup- 
posed Reuben would not have accepted the office. 

“ No, not Blue Mantle,” said Reuben ; “ Clarencieux, or Nor- 
roy, would be another matter ; — as to Griffin, poor devil, I forgive 
him ; I suppose he was very hungry.” 

Primrose was exceedingly pleasant with W: ming on the idea 


200 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS | 


of Reuben bolding the office of a pursuivant or herald, the busi- 
ness of such a post having been stated by a noble and learned 
lord to consist “in walking in processions and holding one's 
tongue ,” for the latter of which duties Mr. Medlicott was so emi- 
nently qualified. 

There was, indeed no danger of his neglecting to cultivate the 
gift of speech, whether for private or other purposes. As to table 
talk, he was already far more proficient therein than was agreea- 
ble to such of his friends as were not content to subside into mere 
listeners, while Reuben recited, lectured, quoted, narrated, argued, 
expatiated, and harangued. He seemed ambitious of rivalling 
Mr. Bavard, instead of being instructed and. warned by so bad an 
example. Those who “ were very kind to his virtues,” and more 
than “ a little blind to his faults,” admired him exceedingly. So did 
a considerable number of persons also who, being mutes themselves, 
thought everybody who could talk continuously for half-an-hour a 
prodigy of cleverness. But the judicious minority found Reuben a 
great deal more fluent than agreeable ; even his dearest friends did 
not hesitate to say that he deliberately practised upon the guests at 
his aunt’s table, to improve himself in confidence and loquacity. 

But it was “ the talking era,” and why should not Reuben 
Medlicott, like others, talk himself into reputation ? Seizing every 
occasion for speaking, he systematically neglected what Bishop 
Butler calls “ the obvious occasions for silence ” easy as they are 
to be distinguished by everybody, “ namely, when a man has 
nothing to say, or nothing but what is better unsaid.” He came 
into society with no design but display, and habitually entertained 
himself at the expense of the company, over whom he tyrannised 
like a Czar, or a President. It was the reverse of conversation, 
for it excluded all reciprocity. Reuben discoursed, and his idolis- 
ing friends or enduring victims listened. He was the Protec- 
tionist of private society, often to the extent of imposing a pro- 
hibitory duty upon every colloquial commodity not of his owu 
production, no matter how interesting and attractive to other peo- 
ple. As to the article he supplied himself, there was a good deal 
in it of what made Coleridge so remarkable; his talk was a sort 
of sparkling mist ; the majority applauded but nobody understood. 
You knew what he was talking about, but never could tell exactly 
what lie was saying about it. If there was a meaning, it was be- 
yond the depth of the expertest divers ; but for that very reason 
it was presumed to be a pearl. He was particularly given to illus- 
tration, and his similes, metaphors, quotations, and anecdotes (of 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


201 


which, as we have seen, he had a bank of his own, where his credit 
was unlimited), were very pleasing and pretty in themselves, but 
what they illustrated was a difficult thing to find out. In short, 
it was just the kind of eloquence to wrap all sorts of absurdities, 
paradoxes, and delusions in ; it captivated visionaries, it delighted 
enthusiasts, it charmed mountebanks, it won the hearts of women 
especially. It was just the oratory for Exeter Hall, the Dublin 
Rotunda, or the Caledonian Chapel ; it would never have answered 
for the bar, the House, or even for the pulpit of a quiet unfanati- 
cal parish. 

Primrose called on Winning one morning, after a dinner at 
which Mr. Medlicott had been particularly disregardful of the 
rights of others, in his ambition to exhibit himself. 

“ Can anything be done ?” he said, “ to open our friend Reu- 
ben’s eyes to the monstrous indiscretion and indecency of mon- 
opolizing conversation as he does. He eclipses Bavard. Nobody 
could get in a word yesterday. If he goes on this way he will 
be as great a bore as , or , or .” 

Winning agreed that it would be most desirable to make 
Medlicott sensible of the-great mistake he was guilty of, but could 
not think of any means of doing it. 

“ It was occurring to me,” said Primrose, “ that you might, 
with propriety, give him a hint upon the subject.” 

“My dear fellow,” said Winning, laughing, “do you remem- 
ber the fable of the monkey and the roasted chesnuts ? A hint 
from yourself would be as useful as from me. Suppose you 
try it ” 

“ I never was good at giving advice,” said Primrose. 

“ I was very great at it when I was a boy,” said Winning. 
“ I have long since learned that to tread on a friend’s faults is 
nearly as dangerous as treading on his corns.” 

“ I believe you are right,” said Primrose, foiled in his ingeni- 
ous attempt to make a cat’s-paw of Winning. 

Possibly Mr. Medlicott was of opinion himself that he had 
become sufficiently accomplished for all practical purposes, as & 
talker in private society ; for he soon began to profit by the op- 
portunities which London afforded him for qualifying himself to 
be equally ready and fluent upon public occasions. 

His mother had frequently alluded, in her letters, to the pro- 
fessors of elocution, some of whom undertook to instruct young 
men in all its branches — the senate, the bar, the Church, and 
even for ranting at Exeter Hall, or spouting at public dinners. 


2G2 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


“ My dear,” said Mrs. Mountjov, one morning at breakfast, as 
her eye glanced at tlu advertisement of one of these great mas- 
ters, in the columns of the Times , “ if you think it would be of 
use to you to take lessons from this accomplished gentleman, only 
let me know. You cannot have a more favourable opportunity 
than the present for improving yourself in this way. It will be 
a great pleasure to me to incur that or any other expense, neces- 
sary for your success in life.” 

Mr. Medlicott owned that he felt strongly disposed to place 
himself for a while under the instruction of Professor Chatterton, 
and a day did not pass without a syllabus having been obtained 
of that distinguished gentleman’s course of lectures. 


CHAPTER IY. 

THE SCHOOL OF EHETOEIO. 

The general card or prospectus of Professor Chatterton (whose 
School of Elocution, as it was termed, was held in Leicester 
Square), announced the intended delivery of four courses of lec- 
tures during the London season, on the theory and practice of 
public speaking, in its several leading applications to the senate, 
the bar, the pulpit, and miscellaneous purposes, such as county 
meetings, public dinners, vestries, mobs, weddings, and demon- 
strations generally. 

There was a particular syllabus for each course. That of the 
lectures on pulpit eloquence was as follows. The reader will 
please to imagine the enthusiastic Mr. Medlicott and the buxom 
Mrs. Mountjoy, reading it together at the tea-table, with, all the 
gravity becoming the subject. 

“ Lecture 1. Importance of the Lungs, Throat, and Tongue to Public 
Speakers in general, and to Clergymen in particular, of all persuasions. 

— Oratory an art, especially Pulpit oratory — Encouragements to the 
study of it — Easy acquisition of, in twelve lessons. — Idea of a perfect 
sermon. — Professor will endeavour to embody it in a Specimen of his 
own Composition. -r- Strictures on Taylor, South, Barrow, and Tillotson 

— Their several defects criticised. The Lecture will conclude with a 
Speculation on the effect Demosthenes vould have produced had he 
adopted the Profession of the Church. 


Oil, THE COMING MAX 


202 


“ Lecture 2. General principles of Pronunciation — Special Rules 
for the reading-desk and Pulpit — Solemnity — Unction — Dignity — 
Action, Action, Action — Passion — Emotion — Sentiment. — Vital 1 m- 
portance of Earnestness — of Look — Voice — Manner. — Origin and De- 
rivation of the word Pulpit — the Pulpit a stage — the Preacher ‘to hold 
the mirror up to nature.’ 

“ Lecture 3. Rhetorical Artifices — Adaptation to Sacred purposes — 
Use of the Hands and Arms — the Eyes — the Eyebrows — Pauses — 
Starts — Points — Transitions — Tones, Intoning, and Intonation. — Dis- 
tinctions to be observed in Churches, Cathedrals, Chapels, and Conven- 
ticles — Drawling, whining — a digression on nasal eloquence. Lecture 
will conclude with a rehearsal by the Professor of one of Mr. Irving’s 
Sermons, in the course of which he will introduce some Criticisms on the 
Unknown Tongue, and Remarks on Jargon in general, in connexion with 
the study of Rhetoric. 

“ Lecture 4. Rules and directions of Particular and Critical Occa- 
sions — Preaching in the Chapel Royal — before Archbishops and Bishops 

— in the presence of the Lord Chancellor — Rhetorical Incense — Pleas- 
ing Personalities, <fcc. 

“ Lecture 5. Charity Sermons — the emotion of Pity — ‘If you have 
tears, prepare to shed them now ’ — Charitable Statistics difficult to 
handle — how to reconcile Petticoats with Pathos, and extract eloquence 
from Slate-pencils. The Professor will illustrate his precepts by deliver- 
ing a Speech of Mr. Hume’s, in the character of a Minister of the Kirk. 

“ Lecture 6. Miscellaneous hints and suggestions — In tenui gloria — 
Coughing, its management — capable of being made effective in the 
Pulpit — Pulpit-lozenges, prepared by Professor Chatterton, and strongly 
recommended to the Clergy. — Remarks on the Snuff-box — Dissuasives 
from Snuff in general — Sneezing not as manageable as coughing, with a 
view to Oratorical effect. — Peroration, embodying all the previous prin- 
ciples, with the results of the Professor’s experience, in a sermon on 
Peace and Good-will, supposed to be preached before the Bishops and 
Clergy of the Church of England, assembled in Convocation.” 

“Well, indeed,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, “ that does seem to be a 
very excellent and judicious course of lectures, and I cannot 
doubt but it must be highly improving to attend them.” 

“The Professor,” said Reuben, “has certainly shown his 
judgment in the choice of the subject to preach on before Convo- 
cation. Rut we are not quite done with the bill of fare : here is 
an N. B. at the bottom, and a postscript after that again.” 

“A Supplementary Lecture will be given by Madame Chatterton, on 
the Dress and Address of a Clergyman. — The Lookmg-Glass, its impor- 
tance — Canonical Drapery — the Hair — Wigs — Attention to the Teeth 

— Use of the Handkerchief in the Pulpit — Cambric— Carnbrai — Arch- 
bishop Fen^lon — Scents, Rings, drc. &c. Tickets Ilalf-a-Guinea, 

“P. S. Professor and Madame Chatterton will giv^ Private Lessons on 
all the above topics adapted tp the use of gehtlemin of the Church ol 
Rome, or disposed to embrace its Doctrines. The Professor having lately 
9* 


204 : THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 

returned from the States of the Church, has had the fcmc n* of importing 
into England sundry interesting novelties in Theatrical Devotion, inclu- 
ding several cases of Relics in admirable preservation, and undoubtedly 
genuine, lie begs also to recommend bis Tract on the all-important sub- 
ject of Holy Histrionics, dedicated, with permission, to the Lord Bish- 
op of . 

“ Surplices, Crucifixes, Rosaries, and Disciplines (the use of them), 
Gratis, during the Course.” 

Reuben was not surprised to find tbat Mr. Chatterton bad 
some years previously been a player of some note, at several of 
the minor theatres. Of course, he was only the better qualified 
to teach what Mr. Medlicott wanted to learn — the artistic ma- 
nagement of the voice, the play of the hands, the bearing of the 
body; in short, all the external part of oratory, which is, no 
doubt, in a great measure, an histrionic art — a truth which may 
help to account for the concurrent decline of eloquence and the 
drama of late years in England. 

The Professor, who was attired in decent black, as became a 
teacher of the clergy, made no secret of his former calling, but on 
the contrary put it prominently forward among his qualifications ; 
and in truth nobody but a player of considerable skill could have 
maintained not only his own gravity, but that of his disciples, 
through a course of instructions in which there was so much real 
and almost unavoidable imposture. 

“ Church, chapel, or conventicle ?”• — with the bow of the old 
trade, and the solemn tone of the new one, was the Professor’s 
first inquiry, when Mr. Medlicott intimated his wish to put him- 
self under his tuition for the clerical portion of the lectures. 

“ The Established Church,” was of course the reply. 

“ High or Low — Cambridge or Oxford 2” inquired the Pro- 
fessor. 

Reuben answered with a smile, which led Professor Chatter- 
ton into an explanation of the necessity he was under of making 
separate classes of his pupils, from the two universities Reuben 
was astounded : he had never before heard of the new school 
of divinity at Oxford, which was then, indeed, only in its infancy. 

“ Ah,” said the Professor, “ it is very little known as yet, but 
the world will hear enough of it by-and-by. My Oxford class is 
not numerous, but it is steadily increasing, and contains my most 

diligent and promising pupils. There is Mr. N n, Mr. 

W d, Mr. St. John Crozier, Mr. Cyprian Palmer, Lord 

Ilenry Holyrood, — very promising young men, all of them, 1 
assure you.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 205 

“ I am liappy to hear there is likely to be such i harvest of 
eloquent preachers,” said Reuben. 

“ Well,” said the Professor, “ my Oxford pupils d»n’t attend 
to that so much as to — what shall I call it? — the— -I don’t like 
to use the word pantomimic ; you know what I mean — the pageant 
— the drama — but perhaps you have seen my tract on ‘ Holy 

Histrionics,’ dedicated by permission to the Lord Bishop of •?” 

Reuben Avas more and more amazed, and inquired the name of 
this neAV Oxonian sect. 

“ Tractarians,” said the ci-devant comedian. “ Perhaps I may 
flatter myself that the title of my little work, originally suggested 
the name.” 

“ It seems to bear a strong family likeness to Popery, all this,” 
said Reuben. “ I now see the meaning of some words in your 
prospectus Avhich at first I did not understand — ‘ belonging to the 
Church of Rome, or disposed to embrace it? ” 

The Professor shoAved an anxiety to distinguish between the 
system of his Oxford pupils and flat Popery, but perceiving that 
he made no great impression on Reuben, he changed the subject, de- 
claring that he made it a rule not to interfere Avith the doctrines 
of the gentlemen who honoured him with their attendance : he 
did not pretend to teach divinity — that, of course, had its import- 
ance — he was prepared to give lessons to gentlemen of all per- 
suasions, without distinction ; if a Mufti, or a dancing Dervish, 
came to his school, he would not refuse to give him the benefit 
of his instructions. 

Mr. Medlicott thought the views of the Professor just and 
reasonable, and the lectures commenced the folloAving day. 

Mr. Chatterton filled up the outlines of his syllabus Avith great 
ingenuity and spirit. As might have been expected, he treated 
learning, argument, and things of that sort, as matters of second- 
ary importance ; and some of his hearers, Reuben among others, 
more than doubted Avhether his specimen of a perfect discourse 
Avas equal to a sermon of BarroAV or Massillon. But he declaimed 
Avith energy, and laid down many rules . Avhich speakers in gene- 
ral Avould do Avell to obser\ 7 e, mixed Avith others Avhich not one 
man in a hundred could possibly attempt to folloAV, Avith out mak- 
ing himself supremely ridiculous. Reuben speedily discoA r ered 
(particularly in the second and third lectures) the so tree of many 
of the affectations Avhich he had seen practised in some of the 
metropolitan pulpits. Indeed, he remarked tAvo young clergy- 
men on the front benches,— one was Mr. Arab.y, the author of 


206 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

Melanethon, in twenty books — who w r ere already beginning to be 
talked of as eloquent preachers ; and he did not fail to observe, 
also, that they redoubled their attention to the lecturer when he 
came to give his instructions for special occasions, such %s preach- 
ing before a bishop, or in presence of the Lord Chancellor. 
Reuben, however, though the most disinterested of the class, w T as 
soon more intent than any one else upon the subject of the 
lectures, and made his enthusiasm so conspicuous that the Pro- 
fessor was excessively flattered, and at length invited him to 
occupy a chair in the most distinguished position in the room. 
This led to private conversations when the lecture was over, and 
one of these conversations ended in Reuben inviting the Profes- 
sor to dinner in Burlington Gardens. Primrose, De Tabley, and 
Winning dined with the widow the same evening, and Reuben 
yielded the pas to the Professor, who, finding himself very com- 
fortable, made himself very agreeable, and had the judgment to 
refrain from giving his model sermon, diverting the company 
nearly as well with admirable imitations of Dowton, Liston, and 
Matthews. As the wine produced its effects, Chatterton began to 
talk at large of his profession, and to disclose many of its arcana, 
about which Winning and Hyacinth were very curious, Winning 
being particularly anxious to find out what members of the bar 
frequented the school of oratory in Leicester-square. It soon ap- 
peared that the lectures were the smallest part of Mr. Chatterton’s 
professional engagements ; he gave private instructions, also, to 
clergymen, lawyers, senators, and even to simple squires, who, 
though not in parliament, were called on to second resolutions at 
county meetings, or propose healths at dinners. 

“I should have thought,” said Winning, “that the chief em- 
barrassment of a squire would be to find the speech itself.” 

The Professor shrugged his shoulders, and intimated that he 
did a little occasionally himself in the speech-making line for the 
squirearchy. 

“ Eloquence is not to be had out of buckskin,” said Winning, 
“ any more than a silk purse — you know the saying.” 

“Bucksin,” said the Professor, “cuts a wonderful figure 
whenever the church is supposed in danger, as some think it 
is just now. A squire’s lungs are made of the same material as 
his breeches, and it’s as easy to shout ‘No Popery!’ as to cry 
‘ Tally-ho !’ A dozen repetitions, at short intervals, of the phrase 
‘No Popery,’ with any stuff you please to fill up the crevices, 
make a capital speech for a “ fine old English gentleman” in the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


207 


Protestant interest ; but the speech must always end vitli “ a lon<r 
puli, a strong pull, and a pull all together,” — recollect that, gentle^ 
men, if a squire ever requests you to compose an oration for him. 
The last sentence is the only one, in fact, that is ever heard 
between the clatter the orator makes himself, with his boots and 
stick on the platform, and the uproar and rioting of the bold 
peasantry in the body of the court. Baronets in general make 
the best hits, as public speakers, in a constitutional crisis. The 
Baronets will have their day yet, take my word for it. Every 
dog has, sooner or later. The deuce of it is, that when one 
of your Sir Johns and Sir Rogers once gets to the ‘long pull* 
without breaking down, and is complimented by the county 
paper for his 4 manly eloquence,’ he never gives a silent vote for 
the remainder of his life.” 

“I have met with a story,” said Reuben, “ of a certain devout 
orator of the class you allude to, who having sat down amidst 
deafening cheers, was overheard mumbling to himself, ‘non nobis 
Doinine, ’ — only for the Latin I should say he must have been a 
baronet, and one of your men in buckskin.” 

“ Probably a- man of Bucks,” said Primrose. 

“Have you any Irish pupils?” said Winning. 

“ They come to me,” said Chatterton, “ but they don’t want 
me.” 

“Do they pay you?” — asked De Tabley. 

“ They will, I make no doubt,” said the Professor, with comic 
gravity, “they will, when they get their own again. Their 
estates were all forfeited, you know, poor fellows. I have six 
Irish pupils at present, and they all confidently expect to come 
into parliament before long, — I have polite invitations at this 
moment, I assure you, to three castles on the banks of the 
Shannon, and positive promises of ever so many elegant situa- 
tions at the disposal of the Lord-Lieutenant.” 

“You are not often required to write speeches for the Irish- 
men, I should think,” said Winning. 

“ I only wish I could make speeches at the rate they do,” said 
Mr. Chatterton ; “ but then Ireland is such a great manufacturing 
country, you know.” 

“ Hold, Professor, I believe you are mistaker there,” cried 
Winning. 

“What does Ireland manufacture except butter and bacon ?” 
asked Reuben. 

“ I know of nothing but oratory,” said the Professor, “ and it 


203 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

was oratory I meant, when I spoke of Irish manufactures. 
Dublin beats Manchester hollow for fustian. I don’t mean to say 
that John Bull has not the talent also, for he has it in him as 
well as Paddy, and he is making rapid strides in eloquence of 
late years, but Paddy has more experience. Everything in 
Ireland is done with a speech and a shout, and the form of 
government the island is blessed with, favours the cultivation of 
my art extremely. ‘ Esto perpetua' I say,” 

“ You mean the castle ?” said Winning. 

“ I do,” said the Professor. “ It may have its faults, but it 
has one great virtue, it gives the people something to talk at. 
The Viceroy is a target for the practice of oratory. If a man has 
the vein of panegyric, he has got something to address and 
flatter; if he is up to a philippic, he has always something to 
abuse. If he unites both gifts, he may throw flowers at his Ex- : 
cellency to-day, and fling thunderbolts at him to-morrow. At 
the very worst, the Lord Lieutenant keeps the tongues of the 
doctors and professors in constant exercise ; for it is the duty of 
the king’s representative to stand an amount of lecturing, a 
twentieth part of which would make his majesty himself abdi- ; 
cate his crown. * Esto j^erpetua' say I.” 

I am disposed to say so too,” said Medlicott, thoughtfully.' 
“ A form of government which promotes eloquence of all kinds 
so powerfully as you describe cannot be anything but a good 
one.” 

“ The Irish, unfortunately, are not so partial to facts as to 
figures,” said Winning. 

“There,” said Chatterton, “lam disposed to agree with them; 

I don’t think facts make the best speeches; facts are dry; senti- 
ments do better.” 

“ I suppose your Irish pupils live very much together,” asked 
Primrose. 

“The men who are talking of coming into the house,” said 
Chatterton, “chum together in Panton Square, where they 
practise franking at breakfast, paliamentary elequence at dinner, 
and have quiet little evening parties, with oysters, punch, Lalla 
Kookh, and Grattan’s speeches.” 

“ They have capital oysters in Ireland,” said De Tabley. 

“ I should like to be present at one of their paliamentary 
dinners,” said Primrose. 

“ So should I of all things,” said Mrs. Mountjoy. 

“And I can tell you, madam,” said the Professor, “you 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


209 


would be a very welcome guest ; for much as they admire the 
Peris of Paradise, they admire the Peris of this life more; — but 
the great fun is at supper: they get up little imaginary squabbles 
and rows with one another, to accustom themselves to coughing 
members down, and calling to order.” 

“We shall see droll people in the house if the Emancipation 
Bill passes,” said De Tabley. 

“ As long as there are droll people out of the house,” said 
Winning, “there will be droll peoole in the house, and there 
ought to be.” 

“ I own I long to see Ireland, and even Panton Square, fully 
and fairly represented,” said Primrose, “ and besides, to speak 
seriously, the best way I know to put an extinguisher upon folly 
and extravagance of all kinds, is to make a constituency of it, and 
give it a member, or members, in the House of Commons. They 
may be bores, to be sure, and do a great deal of mischief even 
there.; but depend upon it, they would be ten times as trouble- 
some and mischie vous at the Corn Exchange, or the Crown and 
Anchor.” 

Mr. Medlicott, who had always sided with his grandfather 
upon the catholic question, was not to be convinced by this 
reasoning; but Winning coincided with Primrose, and was 
stating the grounds of his opinion, when De Tabley again 
returned to the subject of Irish oysters, and changed the conver- 
sation in good time, for Mrs. Mountjoy disliked politics ; they 
puzzled her, and women don’t like things that puzzle them, 
except conundrums and family secrets. 


• *- 


CHAPTER V. 

TIIE PROFESSOR’S WIFE. 

A few days later Mr. Primrose was walking in the Strand, 
when he was met and eagerly accosted by Professor Chatterton, 
who exclaimed — 

“Why, your friend, Mr. Medlicott, is the most wonderful 
young man I ever met with in all my professional experience ; 
lie comes to my lectuses when he is more fit to lecture himself. 
Talk of Irishmen — why, there’s not one of them fit to hold a 


210 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


candle to him! He’s a perfect orator, sir, this m .talent; such 
fluency I never heard in my life : such beautiful language, and 
such abundance of it. By the merest chance I made the dis- 
covery ; I had no notion he was such a clever fellow — he never 
said a word about it.” 

Primrose said it surprised him that Mr. Chatterton’s sagacity 
had not'sooner detected his friend’s genius. He then begged to 
know how the revelation took place. 

It appeared that at a certain stage of the Professor’s course, 
it was the custom for his pupils to give practical proof of the 
progress they had made under his tuition, by rehearsing some 
composition of their own, or the model sermon already men- 
tioned. On the present occasion it occurred to Mr. Chatterton, 
to try what his disciples could do at an extempore discourse, and 
Temperance was the topic fixed on, as it would not have been 
reverent to discuss a religious subject. Two or three fair attempts 
were made ; the majority were dull in the extreme ; some broke 
down after the first sentence; but when it came to Reuben’s 
turn : his facility, his copiousness, his endless variety of figures, 
images, metaphors, similes, allegories, illustrations, and quotations, 
astonished everybody present ; until at length they cheered him 
as if ho was haranguing at Exeter Hall, the effect of which was, 
that he quite forgot the nature of the occasion, and actually held 
forth so long, that at length, said the Professor, “ I believe, some 
of the gentlemen present thought he would never stop.” 

“ You were lucky that he did,” said Primrose. 

“ He is nothing les than a prodigy,” said the Professor. He 
will either be a bishop, or marry a duchess, before he is a year 
in the Church.” 

“ Or purchase a chapel, and set up on his own account,” said 
Haycinth. 

Twenty voices, at least, were busy at the same moment trum- 
peting in different parts of the town Mr. Medlicott’s extraordinary 
display in Leicester-square. It takes, however, more than the 
breath of twenty voices to make what is called fame. Detraction 
was of course very busy also. Envy began to nibble at his repu- 
tation, when it was yet green, by way of earnest of what she 
would do hereafter, when it should attain its full growth. Some 
of the men who applauded him at the lecture, revenged them- 
selves with sneers as soon as it was over. One declared the 
speech was all verbiage and fustian ; another, more malignant, 
said “ it was pretty a third admitted it was cleverish, but de- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


211 


nied that it was clever. Very just criticisms, all of them, most 
probably, but they were _ ot on that account the less narrow and 
ill-natured. 

“He possesses talent,” said Mr. Araby, the sacred poet, in 
conversation with Primrose, “ but it’s a talent I dont envy.” 

“Nobody envies another’s talents,” replied Hay cinth ; “the 
thing we envy is admiration, popularity, success. We envy a 
man his fortune — not his genius, and still less his virtues. Virtue 
was never envied.” 

“ Well, I coufess I envy his facility,” said Winning, who spoke 
ably, but not fluently enough to satisfy himself. 

Of course there was an end of lectures as a vehicle of in- 
struction. Reuben’s rhetorical education was finished. He bore 
his honours meekly — he wore his laurels gracefully ; if he tri- 
umphed it was in private, when his aunt Mountjoy prophesied all 
human glories for him ; still more when his mother, down in 
Sussex, echoed the praises that reached her from London, through 
her sister’s letters and other authentic channels. 

Nothing remained but to attend the supplementary lecture 
by Madame Chatterton. Her one lecture excited more curiosity 
than the whole course delivered by her husband. Reuben took 
tickets for himself, his aunt, and Primrose. The Professor posi- 
tively refused payment for them. 

The lady no sooner appeared than Reuben felt assured he 
had seen her before, though where or when he tried in vain to 
recall. She was very little French, except in name ; but she was 
very handsome, very lively, very clever, fluent, and exceedingly 
entertaining. If the husband was convinced that the most im- 
portant qualifications for the pulpit were histrionic, the wife was 
no less under the firm impression that they were more of a cos- 
metic nature. Chatterton relied on action and passion ; Madame 
upon kalydor and cambric. She dwelt upon the beauty of the 
latter, as if it had been the beauty of holiness ; mixing up the 
topics of Fenelon and fine linen with so much practical address, that 
she .disposed of a few dozen French handkerchiefs, at half-a-guinea 
each, before she concluded her observations. Mrs. Mountjoy 
bought a box of them, embroidered with mitres, cherubs, aud 
other ecclesiastical devices, half for herself and half for Reuben. 
From handkerchiefs Madame passed to the arrangement of the 
hair with a view to devotional effect, and began by lamenting 
that this was so little attended to by the majority of the clergy, 
and by some of them held almost in contempt. Apropos to 


212 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


that, she had a little anecdote to relate. She would not mention 
names, but what she was about to mention had actually occurred 
within her own experience, and would prove the utter indiffer- 
ence of even the highest dignitaries of the Church to the vital 
subject of coiffure. Before she had proceeded a sentence further, 
Reuben recognised in the Frofessors’s wife the charming young 
Frenchwoman who had redressed the wrongs which he had sus- 
tained from his grandfather’s scissors, the night before he went 
to school. That incident was the subject of her anecdote. After 
the lecture, he hastened to renew his acquaintance with her, and 
introduced her to his aunt, who thought her so amiable, as well 
as so pretty and clever, that she could nol help purchasing sev- 
eral more little articles on her earnest recommendation; one of 
them was a carved ivory box, which, to Mrs. Mountjoy’s horror, 
was found, upon examination in the evening, to contain three 
teeth of a Neapolitan saint, whose very name she had never be- 
fore heard. This was, probably, the first box of relies introduced 
into England, in consequence of the stimulus given by the Trac- 
tarian movement to that important branch of our Italian com- 
merce. 

Previous to Mr. Medlicott’s attendance on the Chatterton lec- 
tures, his chamber had been pretty well furnished with looking- 
glasses, as well as with most other objects of use, ornament, or 
luxury, by the attention of his fair relative ; but Reuben now felt 
the want of a mirror of the largest size, and did not hesitate to 
intimate to his aunt how much he desired to have one in which 
he could see himself at full length, when he practised before it. 
The deficiency was no sooner mentioned than it was supplied. A 
new looking-glass, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, was 
immediately purchased and put up ; standing before which, as it 
were in a pulpit, and recollecting all the lessons of the Professor, 
and the instructions of Madame, Reuben either theatrically 
recited some discourse he had committed to memory, or extem- 
porised a sermon of his own from his exhaustless treasury of 
words and ready fund of all possible embellishments and amplifi- 
cations of diction. Many a time did the curious and astonished 
Agatha witness his histrionic exercises through the keyhole ; and 
sometimes the good landlady, passing the door on tip-toe, would 
pause, attracted by the volumes of sound, and, availing herself of 
the same convenient little orifice to gaze at the handsome }oung 
man, declaiming in his robe of black velvet, yield herself prema- 
turely to the captivations of pulpit oratory. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


213 


BOOK THE SIXTH 


“Eloquence, like the fair sex, has too prevailing beauties in ft to suffer Itself ever to 
be spoken against. And it is in vain to find fault with those arts cf deceiving wherein 
men find pleasure to be deceived.” — LocJce's Essay on the Human Understanding. 

Socrates. “"What if I bring you to a conference 

With my own proper goddesses, the Clouds?” 

Sirepsiades. “’Tis what I wish devoutly.” 

Aristophanes. 


ARGUMENT. 

A goodly catalogue might be made of writers, ancient and modern, Greek 
and Roman, Italian, Spanish, English, nay even among the gallant French 
themselves, who, in learned treatises, or pleasant composures — in prose 
some, and in rhyme others — have inveighed against womankind, down 
from the fragile Eve, °ur general mother, to the lowliest slave of the mop 
and broom amongst her daughters ; but what good has ever come of con- 
tinually abusing and snubbing the female race, or what fruit is to be ex- 
pected from it ? For whether it be true, as one poet expresses it, that 
they are to be reckoned among the “ fair defects of Nature,” or ranked 
with her most exquisite pieces of porcelain, as another will have it, they 
cannot be denied to form one of the great estates of the world as it is, 
although fancy is free, of course, to choose any star in the firmament and 
people it 

“ With men, as angels, without feminine.’* 

What sort of a place to live in such a planet would be, this is not the place 
to discuss; but from all we know of all the Utopias hitherto discovered, 
not excepting the terrestrial little paradise of O’Oonnorville itself, we have 
never felt a strong inclination to migrate to any one of them, and it is very 
doubtful if a world, one hundred and eighty degrees from V enus, would 
prove more attractive than the rest. To look at woman with the eye. of 
philosophy is not easy, but if you can manage it, you must see at once that 
there is no use in quarrelling with her, any more than with any other 
“ fait accompli .” As w*b take her individually from the hand of Sir Priest, 
“for better, for worse,” as the rubric phrases it, so we must accept the 


214 


THE UNIVERSAL GENI S J 


entire sex, and accommodate ourselves to our lot as Socratically, as possi- 
ble. Nor would matters be quite as batl as they are, only that unfortu- 
nately the female element in the world is not confined to the precise limits 
of the fair sex, but largely intrudes itself into the masculine, in return per- 
haps for sundry small loans of their proper attributes, which the lords of 
the creation occasionally make to the ladies, as in the case of the Ama- 
zons, the Blue-stockings, and the Bloomers. Some writers insist that each 
gender is the better for a little alloy of the others that a touch of the woman 
becomes the man, while a little of the man improves the woman, provided 
’tis not from his chin the little is borrowed. Now, if we inquire for which 
of our gifts we are in all probability most indebted to Eve and her daugh- 
ters, we suspect it will be found to be no other than the nimble and eager 
exercise of the tongue, which appears beyond controversy to be the 
womanly parcel of us, and is, possibly for that reason, so proverbially diffi- 
cult to keep in order and subjection. The tongue is essentially of the 
feminine gender, let its possessor be of w 7 hat sex he may ; and if in form 
it is serpentine, in ipotion voluble, and in its employment often .even double 
and venomous, its origin is only more clearly to be traced to the first 
beauty that charmed and the first rhetoric that seduced. This is the shrew 
that everybody is more or less cursed with, a virago in every man’s 
mouth, which the wisest cannot at all hours tame like Petruchio. Homer, 
not less philosopher than poet, seems to have considered the teeth as a 
rampart or line of circumvallations, expressly designed by provident 
Nature to check the sallies of this termagant spouse of ours. And the 
same idea seems to have struck our own Shakspeare — 

44 Within my month you have en gaoled my tongue^ 

Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips.” 

It is further observable that Homer, to return to him, when his wise 
Ulysses speaks, describes his voice as issuing not so much from his mouth, 
the seat of the tongue, as out of his heart or mind — the profounder region 
of thought and feeling. It is a sorry thing when the tongue is vocal and 
the understanding mute ; when the womanly organ is the only part of the 
machinery in full work, and “ loquax rnagis quam facundua ” is the motto 
of^the age. Perhaps we are to blame the dentists for not looking better 
after our teeth, which certainly perform but indifferently, in many cases, 
the duty assigned them by Homer, and are not to be numbered among the 
defences of the nation. Why, do we not see men in our own days, as there 
were in Mr. Medlicott’s, whose tongues scarce a triple row of elephauts’ 
tusks could effectually blockade, though kept in the best repair by all the 
art of dental surgery ? — 

44 Men who at any time would hang 
For th’ opportunity t’ harangue ; 

And still their tongues run on the less 
Of weight they bear, with greater ease, 

And with their everlasting clack 
Set all men’s ears upon the rack, 

With volleys of eternal babble, 

And clamour most unanswerable.” 

Such men, metliinks, are as justly to be held women, by reason of thi 
vicious excess of the female quality in them, as the king of Dahomey * 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


215 


regiments of guardswomen are to be counted men, notwithstanding the 
want of ‘whiskers and beards. What coirecter judgment, indeed, can we 
pronounce upon the remorseless race of talkers and speech-makers, this 
“thundering legion” by which the nation is overrun, who are rapidly be- 
coming a distinct function and profession in the state, overpowering common 
sense, as Niagara drowns all ordinary voices, and threatening with ruin 
the public interests, especially the dignity anil efficiency of parliament — 
what can we say of them more correctly than that they are all tongue, just 
as a glutton is all stomach ; or as Milton describes the unfaithful shepherds 
of the Church, as mere “mouths,” — a word which would serve our turn as 
well, did we need it. 


CHAPTER L 

A GLIMPSE OF GLORY. 

A barrel of gunpowder is as quiet as a barrel of oysters until 
a spark touches it ; then it explodes, and blows the house out ol 
the windows. While Reuben Medlicott was practising and ac- 
complishing himself in the art of rhetoric in Burlington Gardens, 
expecting nothing less than an early opportunity for displaying 
his proficiency in it, a political movement was going onin Sussex, 
which no sooner reached his ears than it set his ambition on fire, 
and turned everything topsy-turvy. 

A public meeting was on the point of being held at Chiches- 
ter, in defence of the Protestant interest, which at that time was 
supposed to be in a very delicate and critical situation. At this 
meeting, when the news of it reached him, Mr. Medlicott, flushed 
with his recent honours in Leicester-sauare, determined to make 
his first experiment in public speaking. The opportunity seemed 
singularly favourable : the place was benign, the subject was pro- 
pitious : hundreds of familiar faces would surround him on the 
platform. He anticipated and dutifully sympathised in his moth- 
er’s raptures : even his grandfather himself would at least approve 
his zeal. 

Was the Dean’s approbation so very certain ? Winning and 
Primrose no sooner heard of their friend’s design, than they took 
a widely different view of the matter. They thought Reuben’s 
intention to take an active part in the proposed meeting the 
height of imprudence ; and we must be excused for devoting a 
few words to account for their being so decidedly of this opinion. 


216 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

It was the period when a cabinet, which had hitherto ranged 
itself in determined resistance to the claims of the Roman Cath- 
olics, was understood to be wavering upon that long agitated 
point. Rumours were abroad that great concessions were on the 
eve of being made, though whether to reason or to clamour 
opinions were divided. There ^vere many whispers also afloat 
affecting individuals. Some of the most eminent men in the na- 
tion, particularly in the Church, were beginning to be hinted at 
in the public journals, as being only too ready to wheel about 
with the government, not of course without weighty considera- 
tions, proportioned to the risks and sacrifices attendant upon all 
such evolutions. Among those who were most pointedly alluded 
to in this unpleasant way was the grandfather of our hero — for 
we may call him a hero with some propriety, now that the Pro- 
testant interest at Chichester is about to claim and use him as its 
champion. For several years, as we have had occasion already 
to state, Dean Wyndham’s elevation to the bench had been spo- 
ken of as a probable event, not only on account of his learning 
and talents, but his strenuous employment of them in support of 
the policy of the government. Latterly, however, his friends 
had begun to despair of his promotion ; and the unmitigated vio- 
lence of his writings and sermons seemed to be rapidly dimin- 
ishing his chances with a ministry which was growing milder and 
more tolerant every day. But now it was confidently stated that 
the Dean, had caught the popular infection like others, and that 
the mitre, which had been denied him as the preacher of exclu- 
sion, was immediately to reward his conversion to the doctrines 
of liberality. All this was still mere rumour, but it was a ru- 
mour that was gaining ground ; and whatever men like Winning 
might privately think of the purity of the Dean’s conduct as a 
public man (should he have really made up his mind to put on 
a new suit of doctrines and principles in his old age), they w r ere 
not the less clearly of opinion that Reuben Medlicott (on the eve 
of entering the Church) could not possibly choose a more unfortu- 
nate moment for the public display which he was now meditating. 

Reuben, however, was most indignant at the imputations upon 
his grandfather, which the remonstrances of his friends assumed 
to be well founded. He had been brought up from the cradle 
in extreme veneration for the Dean ; and as he advanced in years 
this feeling had increased in proportion to his capability of esti- 
mating his grandfather’s talents and erudition : a doubt as to his 
sincerity upon any point (much less upon the great question to 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


217 


which he had for years chiefly devoted his powers as a ccn versa* 
tionalist) had never crossed his mind, except as a profane idea 
which it was sinful for a mqjjient to harbour. In short, had Doc- 
tor Wyndham been a man as well qualified to command his 
grandson’s love as he w^as to excite his admiration, Reuben would 
have regarded him with an enthusiasm little short of what an- 
other Luther might have inspired. To Luther, indeed, his mother 
and he had frequently exercised and pleased themselves by com- 
paring their distinguished relative. It will easily be believed that 
no alalogy with Melancthon was very likely to suggest itself to 
the most partial of the Dean’s friends. 

Reuben had never forgotten that glorious sermon, with which 
he had heard the Cathedral of Hereford, nave and choir, resound ; 
the thunders of which had scared the rooks from their settlements 
in the square tower, and frighted from their propriety the neigh- 
bouring closes. That those eloquent denunciations of the vile 
doctrine of expediency, which had thrilled him when a schoolboy, 
were nothing but sound and vapour, he was not prepared to ad- 
mit. He was determined to believe that there was still such a 
thing as principle in the world ; or at least that among the apos- 
tates from it, the name of Wyndham would not be found. 

“ Well,” said Primrose, at length, after a great deal of una- 
vailing remonstrance, “ don’t make enemies for yourself among 
the bishops, at all events : avoid personal allusions. Though it 
is whispered that one or two of the right reverend bench are 
about to veer with the wind from Downing-street, you are under 
no necessity of adverting to them, or to anybody else about 
whom similar reports are current.” 

“ On the contrary,” said Reuben, ostentatiously, “ my inten- 
tion is to paint the character of an apostate Churchman in the 
most glowing colours : in fact, this will be absolutely necessary 
for the effect of my speech.” 

“Totally irrelevant, however,” said Winning, calmly; “but 
that , I know, was considered a slight objection in the debates of 
our society at Cambridge. Besides, what right have you to set 
1 up yourself as the judge of any man’s sincerity, or the impugner 
of any man’s motives ?” 

“ Will you allow Winning, or me, to see what you have pre- 
; pared ?” asked Primrose. 

“Certainly,” said Reuben. 

He redeemed his pledge in a few days. 

The character of the apostate Churchman was the portrait of 
10 


218 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


his grandfather, in everything bitf the details and personal fea- 
tures. His friends looked at one another in amazement ; then j 
pressed on him, as strongly as they could, that should the rumours j 
of the Dean’s change of opinions have any foundation in fact, 1 
the delivery of such a passage by his grandson could hardly fail 
to lead to an irreparable breach between them. 

“ But my grandfather is not about to apostatise — for it conies 
to that,” replied Reuben, with confidence and displeasure ; “ so 
that your premises fall to the ground, and your conclusion tum- 
bles along with them.” 

Winning perceived that argument was useless, and left the 
room before he lost his temper. 

De Tabley came in almost the next instant. Primrose asked 
him what news he had ; for De Tabley, through his uncle, who 
was in parliament, and closely connected with a member fc of the _ 
ministry, had often pretty good information of what was going 
on behind the scenes. 

“ Nothing talked of but desertions,” be answered ; “ we shall 
witness startling events before a week is over. Medlicott will be 
more astounded than any of us by some of them.” 

“You hear,” said Hyacinth to Reuben. “Depend upon it 
you will commit a monstrous imprudence if you persevere” 

“ Lay it hard on the bishops,” said De Tabley, “ as hard as 
you please ; but take my advice, and don’t meddle with the 1 
deans !” 

Primrose and Winning now made another effort. They 
went together to his aunt, and after explaining to her the views 
they entertained of the step which her nephew was about to take, 
they strongly advised her to exert her influence with him, and 
dissuade him from doing what might possibly end in blasting his 
prospects for life. Poor Mrs. Mountjoy was greatly distressed and 
excited ; she felt very little disposed to credit any of the reports 
that were going about her father’s promotion, but she had already 
some vague notion that Reuben was about to do an unwise 
thing, in attending a political meeting of any kind, and she pro- 
mised to do all in her power to bring himr to reason. 

Reuben was seated in one of his luxurious chairs, arrayed in 
his velvet robe-de-chambre and slippers, with his speech before 
him, to which he proposed to put some new touches before din- 
ner (he was engaged that day to dine with Master Turner), when 
he heard a little timid tap at the door of his chamber. 

It was hi' aunt’s maid, to say that her mistress wished par- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


219 


ticularly to see liim, if a visit from her would not be very incon- 
venient. The girl gazed almost idolatrously on Reuben ; and 
no wonder, for, in his gorgeous gown, there was scarcely any 
dignity so high, that he might not well be supposed invested 
with it. 

“ Shall I go to her ?” he inquired. 

“ She will come to you, sir,” said Agatha, with profound de- - 
ference : and presently in came the portly, beautiful, and amiable 
widow. 

Reuben would have been very hard-hearted not to have been 
moved by the sweetness and earnestness with which his aunt re- 
peated and reinforced the advice and remonstrances which his 
friends had in vain urged. But Reuben Medlicott was so far 
from having a hard heart, that, on the contrary, the softness and 
warmth of his nature made him, all through life, only too sus- 
ceptible of the sort of influence which was now brought to bear 
upon him. The end of the interview was, that though he con- 
tinued to treat the apprehensions of his aunt as utterly ground- 
less, and little less than a libel on her own father, and though his 
frankness kept him from concealing the extent of the sacrifice he 
was called on to make, he nevertheless assured his fair relative 
that he was prepared to make it, if it was necessary to set her 
mind at ease. 

Mrs. Mountjoy was now as overflowing with thanks, as if she 
had been petitioning for some mighty favour for herself, instead of 
merely deprecating an act of excessive imprudence on his part. 
Gazing admiringly on the manuscript which she recognized on 
th°. table, then tenderly taking it up, and turning over the pages 
with a mingled expression of curiosity and regret, she hoped he 
would permit her to read it. He could not deny the request, but 
assented with a sigh, which did not escape her ear, touchingly 
intimating, at the same time, that the speech was made to be 
spoken, not to be read. 

The sigh of the young orator explained this distinction in- 
finitely better to the fair widow’s apprehension, than a long lec- 
ture on eloquence could have done. It made her more thorough- 
ly sensible of the extent to which Reuben was sacrificing his own 
gloiy to her gratification, than if she had studied the treatise 
“ De Claris Oratoribus.” Such, indeed, was the effect of that 
sigh upon her, that it is possible the interview might have ended 
in Mrs. Mountjoy changing her mind altogether, and even im- 
ploring her nephew to do what she had just so earnestly dissuad- 


220 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

ed him from doing, had not her maid opportunely tapped at the 
door, to remind her that it was time to dress for dinner, and also 
to hand Mr. Medlicott a letter which had just been delivered by 
the postman. 

“ I’ll leave you to read it, my dear,” said his aunt, as she ran 
away. 

That letter could not possibly have come at a more unlucky 
moment. It was from his mother, to acquaint him with the ar- 
rangements that had been made for the meeting at Chichester, 
and the intense excitement that prevailed in the neighbourhood 
about it, of which no small part, according to Mrs. Medlicott, was 
owing to Reuben’s expected participation in its proceedings. - 
Several bishops, whom she mentioned, had expressed their anxie- 
ty that the day should go off well. Flocks of clergymen were 
to attend it. Everybody deplored his dear grandfather’s absence ; i 
but perhaps it was reserved for somebody, who was still dearer to 
her, to supply, and more than supply, the place which the Dean 
had been wont to fill so ably upon occasions of this nature, !' 
Such an opportunity for a young man to cover himself with glo- '■ 
ry might not occur again for a ages. The maternal solicitude 
about his preparations and his success, were visible even in the 
tremulousness of the handwriting. The letter was crossed and 
recrossed, yet, after all, the most urgent part of it was contained 
in the last of three postscripts, where his mother informed him 
that the committee to conduct the meeting was to dine at the Vi- 
carage on the day preceding it, and his father was anxious to 
have his son’s assistance to entertain them. The Earl of Stromness, 
she added, had sent a haunch of venison for the occasion, an earnest 
of the interest taken by him in the approaching demonstration. 

Reuben had not been so agitated by a letter since the painful 
communications he had once received, when a schoolboy, from 
Mrs. Barsac and her daughter. He paced his chamber in a su- 
perb state of excitement, rendered still more tragic by his pomp- 
ous dishabille, which swept the ground behind him like the robe 
of a heroine on the stage, or a lady’s train at a drawing-room. 
He now felt that he had entered into an inconsiderate, and even 
improper engagement with his aunt ; he had made a vow as rash 
as Jephtha’s, not sufficiently weighing either the bitter disap- 
pointment his absence would occasion to his mother, or the mis- 
chiefs which might possibly result from deranging, at the eleventh 
hour, the arrangements for a great county meeting. In all prob- 
ability it also crossed his mind, as he traversed his room, that the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


22 L 


Protestant interest itself might suffer some slight fcjury ; for as 
the meeting was considered absolutely necessary for its support, 
even the least significant personage attending it must needs con- 
tribute something to its success and efficiency. What was the 
public voice, when it roared loudest, but the aggregate of the 
voices of individuals ? Even those who only cheered and shout- 
ed were not altogether useless. 

Then as to his grandfather’s imputed change of views — the 
only argument his friends in London had to stand on — was not 
the letter in his hand a triumphant answer to it ? All Sussex 
was deploring the Dean’s absence from a demonstration so con- 
genial to his principles. “ Offended at my speaking on such an 
occasion !” cried Reuben, at the end of the soliloquy ; “ he is a 
thousand times more likely to bellow like a bull, if I desert my 
post, especially were he to suspect the reason.” 

He dressed with feverish precipitation, and, with his mother’s 
letter in his hand, went in search of Mrs. Mouutjoy. 


CHAPTER H. 

THOUGHTS THAT BKEATHE AND WORDS THAT BURN. 

It was no very difficult achievement. Mrs. Mountjoy released 
her nephew from his promise much more readily than she had 
prevailed on herself to extort it from him. She was a woman 
who had the humblest opinion of her own judgment, especially 
in comparison with her sister, whom she habitually regarded as 
a very superior person to herself ; and, moreover, being of that 
more amiable than numerous order of beings to whom it is al- 
ways extremely painful to allow their own gratification, or their 
own opinions and wishes, to interfere with the gratification of 
others for one moment, she felt it utterly impossible to oppose 
her nephew any longer, when she found herself so decidedly in 
opposition to his mother also. 9 

The fact that the meeting was under the patronage of so 
many of the clergy, and even of several bishops, was not with- 
out its effect likewise. All Mrs. Mountjoy begged now was, that 
Reuben would in his speech avoid everything calculated to give 
offence to individuals, and make enemies for himself. Subject to 


222 


THE UNIVERSE L GENIUS ; 

tiiis little stipulation, she consented to his leaving her .he very 
next morning, which, indeed, was necessary, to enable him to be 
at home in time for the dinner to be given to the Committee. As 
Reuben dined out, he took leave of his aunt then, promising to 
send her a newspaper with the best report of his speech, and to 
return soon after the meeting* and finish his visit. He dined, as 
we have said, with Master Turner, who amused him by repeating 
in the course of the evening, “The Chancellor told me, that the 
best sermon he ever heard in his life, was one which he heard 
your father preach in a little country-church near Chichester.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy dined alone, and thought she was doomed to 
pass the entire evening in solitude, which was not to her an agree- 
able prospect, when, to her great delight .and surprise, while she 
sat at tea, who should arrive but Mrs. Wyndham ? She had 
come from Boulogne that morning, had dined at Portland-place, 
and could not let the evening close “ without paying her daugh- 
ter a visit.” Mrs. Mountjoy, on her part, was equally charmed 
to receive her fair young step-mother. This relationship was al- 
ways a cause of pleasantry, though really Mrs. Mountjoy looked 
very little senior to Mrs. Wyndham. 

Mrs. Wyndham had left the Dean behind her ; perfectly well, 
but in a state of feverish excitement, owing to affairs in England, 
and, as his wife said, receiving letters and despatches every hour 
from members of parliament, ministers and public men in every 
situation. As to anything that might be in agitation affecting 
Lis personal interests, Mrs. Wyndham was very little better in- 
formed than Mrs. Mountjoy, the Dean had been of late so ex- 
tremely reserved about politics and about himself; but it was 
impossible not to believe that something very extraordinary would 
happen before long. 

Mrs. Mountjoy inquired whether he had been lately corres- 
ponding with her sister, Mrs. Medlicott, or her husband ? 

“ He had a letter from Mr. Medlicott,” said Mrs. Wyndham, 
“ and I think it annoyed him more than any other communica- 
tion he has had from home ; he is excessively angry about some 
meeting or other they are going to hoW at Chichester.” 

“You dotfit tell me so !” cried poor Mrs. Mountjoy, starting 
from her chainvith an emotion that made Mrs. Wyndham start 
likewise, 

Mrs. Mountjoy then related everything that had occurred re- 
lating to the meeting. 

“ Oh, my dear Mrs. Mountjoy,” said Mrs. Wyndham, “ why 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


223 


were you not more confident in your own judgment, you judged 
so very correctly; it would absolutely ruin that dear clever 
nephew of yours in my husband's favour, if he were to take any 
part, much more a prominent one, in this Chichester meeting.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy was unable to speak, she was so distressed 
and excited. 

“ And just now it would be so particularly unfortunate,” 
added Mrs. Wyndham, with still more earnestuess, “ when no- 
body knows what a day may bring forth — how Boon the Dean 
may have it in his power to be of the greatest service to Reuben 
in his profession. Can nothing be done to prevent him from 
taking so very indiscreet a step 2” 

“Reuben dines out; he will not be at home until a late hour, 
and early to-morrow- morning he has arranged to start for 
Chichester.” 

“ You must either see him again before he goes,” said Mrs. 
Wyndham, “ or write him a very, very strong letter.” 

“ One thing certainly might be done,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, 
but she paused and immediately added, that it was too strong a 
measure for her to take. 

Mrs. Wyndham insisted upon hearing what her idea was. 

“ His speech is lying in his room,” replied Mrs. Mountjoy, 
laughing at herself for the absurd thought that had come into 
her head; “it just occurred to me to carry it off and bum it or 
hide it.” 

“Well, but that is a most capital notion,” said Mrs. Wynd- 
ham, jumping up with the greatest animation, “let us go, my 
dear Mrs. Mountjoy, and put it into immediate execution. I am 
for burning the speech : I am against half measures.” 

“ It will answer every purpose to lock it up,” said the widow. 

“ Let us go to his room, at all events.” 

They went up together to Reuben’s apartment. Blanche 
was not a little amused by the minute daintiness of the 'arrange- 
ments, which his solicitous and bountiful aunt had made for Reu- 
ben’s accommodation. She was near forgetting the business in 
hand, in her admiration of the velvet dressing-gown and slippers 
especially. 

“I see how it is,” she said, laughing; “you do every thing 
to spoil your nephew : no wonder you find him so perverse and 
unmanageable ; — you are quite as bad as any mother.” 

“Perhaps you will be a mother yourself, my dear, one of 
these days,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, parrying the attack, in a laugh- 
ing whisper. 


224 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

u All, no !” said Blanche, with a sigh that was not very sor- 
rowful ; “ I shall never be more than a grandmother and a step- 
mother, but that’s dignity enough, I think, for a little woman 
like me.” 

The speech was lying just where Mrs. Mountjoy had seen it 
a few hours earlier in the evening ; but now, when she took it 
up, she handled it even more lovingly than before ; and again 
she repeated that' there could be no advantage in destroying the 
papers — she would carry them away to her own bed-chamber, 
and hide them on some high shelf, or in some inaccessible nook 
or corner. Mrs. Wyndham was curious to look over the speech. 
Mrs. Mountjoy placed it in her hands, and just at the same mo- 
ment Agatha came in, with a great fuss, to get some directions 
about Mr. Reuben’s linen, as he was to leave town in the morn- 
ing. Mrs. Mountjoy went with the maid into her nephew’s 
dressing-room to settle this little business, which did not occupy 
five minutes. When she returned to where she had left Mrs. 
Wyndham, she found that resolute young lady standing near the 
fire, contemplating with firmness, though not, perhaps, without 
some little misgiving and scruples of conscience, the burning elo- 
quence of Reuben Medlicott. * 

The affrighted widow knew at a glance, only too well, what 
it was that was curling and twisting in the flames, as if the pa- 
pers themselves actually felt the pangs of martyrdom. Passion- 
ately clasping her hands, and regarding Mrs. Wyndham with 
looks which expressed at once astonishment, sorrow, and reproach, 
she uttered a series of the most piteous exclamations, ending with 
bitterly upbraiding herself for having been the first to suggest so 
barbarous a proceeding. 

“ My dear Mrs. Mountjoy,” said Blanche, with the agitated 
manner of a woman who, having done an .energetic thing, is in- 
clined to fear she has been too vigorous, “ it would never have 
done for you to have merely carried it off; your nephew would 
infallibly have got it from you.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy made no reply, but stood with her eyes riveted 
upon the burning papers, while over and over again her friend 
repeated, that what she had done she had done for the best, and 
she was confident Reuben himself would one day thank her for 
it. At length the flames devoured the last of their prey, and 
the two fair dames went down together, both a little more com- 
posed ; Mrs. Mountjoy telling her friend that she could only re- 
gard her in the light of an executioner, and Mrs. Wyndham de* 


OR, THE COMES Sr MAN. 


225 


fending herself, by declaring in more explicit terms thin she had 
used before, that she had a presentiment of a bishopric, and was 
bent upon having Reuben for her domestic chaplain.. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE APOSTAOT. 

The events of the few succeeding days put Reuben Medlicott, his 
oratory, prospects, and all about him, quite out of remembrance, 
at least in the thoughts of his London friends. They had some- 
thing far more exciting to think of, for rumour had told a true 
story, and Dean Wyndham returned from Boulogne, to give his 
adhesion to the Government, and receive the mitre, as the recom- 
pense of his sudden aud suspicious adoption of a new set of polit- 
ical opinions. The career of this eccentric dignitary reminded 
the public of those hurricanes which occur in the Caribbean Seas, 
where the gale will often begin from the north or the south ; 
then suddenly chop round, and blow with equal determination 
from the opposite point of the compass. And from the history 
of the same tempests might have been likewise borrowed an apt 
illustration of some of the effects of the Dean’s conversion ; for as 
it is found that the trees upon one side of an island, subjected to 
one of those abrupt and fierce visitations, are commonly blown 
down in one direction, while the trees on the opposite side are 
found prostrated in the reverse one, in like manner, before Dr. 
Wynd ham’s former opponents had ceased to reel beneath the 
tremendous buffets which he had dealt them in the pulpit and 
the press, his new antagonists were already staggering under the 
equally formidable blows which it was now their turn to receive. 

The event affected people variously, according to their polit- 
ical views, their notions of public morality, their private interests, 
or their previous estimate of the Dean’s probity. Those who 
were least surprised at his tergiversation were those who best 
knew him. Those who affected to be most indignant at his per- 
fidy were those who would have been most ready themselves to 
receive a political traitor with open arms. He was loudly reviled 
for his hypocrisy, by men who never had better reason than hia 
violence for believing him sincere while on the other hand he 
10 * 


226 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


was now extolled for sincerity by many of his new associates, 
who had no other grounds for their opinion than his present ad- 
herence to their own standard. Many blushed for his infidelity 
to his party, but many more envied him for- the prize he won by 
it. Some were ashamed of human nature ; some were disposed 
to hisbelieve in the existence of truth and virtue ; some pro- 
claimed that religion itself had received*a mortal blow. There 
were persons who never would have thought it, and there were 
others who all along expected it. A great many people said it 
was not worth his while, at sixty-five, to barter his principles even 
for a bishopric ; but men of the stamp of Lord Greenwich and 
Mr. De Tablev, who took a secular view of the matter, main- 
tained that if he was only to enjoy his prosperity for five years, 
there was an amount of good living in five years of episcopacy, 
for which the price paid was far from unreasonable. 

Those who took a metaphysical view of the case did not fail 
to recollect the ancient doctrine of the duplicity of the human 
mind. The Socratic philosophy, for instance, consisted in the 
retiring of a man within himself, to hold communion with, the 
alter ego which Nature has assigned to each of us. When this 
communion is of an harmonious and amiable nature, the result 
is what we call singleness of mind or purpose ; when it is contro- 
versial, it necessarily leads to the phenomenon of doubleminded- 
ness, of which the practical result is the line of conduct vulgarly 
called tergiversation. “ According,” says Lord Shaftesbury, “ as 
the dual number is practically formed in us, we are supposed to 
advance in wisdom and moral perfection.” The microcosm, in 
fact, or little world in our bosoms, is divided into two parties, 
and the more thorough the division is, the more metaphysically 
complete is our intellectual constitution. We are therefore al- 
ways to understand a perfect, or (what is tantamount thereto) 
a double public character as speaking in only one of his persons 
at a time. Such a man has his Whig self and his Tory self; 
what are loosel} 7 called his inconsistencies, are in reality nothing 
but the discordant relations subsisting between the two parties 
in his breast. Two minds, like two heads, are obviously better 
than one ; but what would be the use of two minds, if they were 
always to think the same thing, or always come to the same 
conclusion ? Nature does nothing in vain, and it is well worthy 
of observation, as a beautiful analogy between our physical and 
our moral structure, that the cavity of the human thorax con- 
tains two lungs, or organs of bnathing, for which no other moral 


OR, TIIE COMING MAN. 22 7 

use can he assigned but to enable a man to blow hot and cold 
with the same breath. 

It was at Mrs. Barsac’s ball, the day after the incidents of the 
last chapter, that the Dean’s promotion was first announced 
authentically to his family. The ball far exceeded in splendour 
anything of the kind at Hereford, but in London it made no 
more sensation than a reunion at a spinster’s tea-table at Islington 
or Hackney. There were three lords, however, wherever Mrs. 
Barsac had picked them up ; but, to be sure, two were only in 
the Irish or Scotch peerage, and the third was Lord Greenwich, 
whom Barsac had met one day at Mrs. Mountjoy’s, and toadied 
with so much industry and success, as to prevail on him to grace 
his wife’s ball with his portly presence. Lord Greenwich, indeed, 
was more like an alderman than a nobleman, and he was as alder- 
manic in his tastes as in his personal appearance. But the star 
on his coat was the cynosure of many an eye notwithstanding, 
and it fascinated no eyes so much as Mrs. Barsac’s, who had 
already conceived the idea of securing him for one of the re- 
maining Sherries. 

Mrs. Barsac was not much of a star-gazer, astronomically 
speaking ; but of a star on the breast of nobility she was as sharp 
an observer as Sir John Herschel, and as diligent with her optic 
glass as Galileo himself. She took a baron’s altitude with pre- 
cision, noted the transit of a viscount across the floor to a second, 
and could tell how many digits an earl was eclipsed: by a mar- 
quis, with a degree of accuracy that was quite scientific/ In 
short Mrs. Barsac was a very clever practical astronomer in her 
way ; and there was this always to comfort her in her at- 
tention to the phenomena of the peerage, that if she failed to 
win a husband for her daughters, she succeeded probably in gain- 
ing a customer for her husband. 

Neither Primrose nor Henry Winning had seen Mrs. Mount- 
joy since the interview they both had with her upon the subject 
of Reuben’s interests. They now formed a little group in a cor- 
ner with the fair widow and Mrs. Wyndham, and it was then 
that Reuben’s absence from the ball was first noticed by his 
friends. Winning was delighted at the burning of the speech, 
and applauded Mrs. Wyndham to the skies for, her energy and 
decision. Primrose shook his head, and expressed his apprehen- 
sions that all was not quite safe yet : it depended entirely, he 
said, upon the question, whether his eloquent and wrong-headed 
young friend l ad committed his oration to memory or not. 


228 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


-Winning thouglit be bad not, and Mrs. Mountjoy fortified his 
opinion by mentioning what her maid had related of Reuben’s 
extreme vexation at missing the papers on the morning he left 
town. 

“ In all probability, however,” said.Winning, “ we are attach- 
ing more importance to the matter than it merits, so that if Mrs. 
Wyndham feels disposed to dance, and would prefer me for her 
partner, to the gallant Captain Shunfield, who is advancing to 
solicit that honour, I am humbly at her command.” 

Mrs. Wyndham, as she looked that night at her mother’s 
ball, was as charming a little duodecimo edition of woman-kind 
as you ever saw in the library of beauty. The milliner had 
bound her with extreme elegance; the jeweller had embellished 
her richly but simply ; and if it would not be pushing the meta- 
phor too far, it might be truly added that the contents of the 
volume were as pleasing as its exterior was attractive, every page 
being illustrated with good sense, and illuminated with good 
humour. 

Mr. Primrose remained at the widow’s side. She was not 
one of the youngest beauties in the room unquestionably, but she 
was probably the most agreeable woman, and, indeed, she was 
surprisingly handsome, considering the date of her charms, for 
though much younger than her sister, Mrs. Medlicott, she was 
still of the same generation. Hyacinth Primrose had a longer 
tete-a-tete with her upon this occasion than he had ever enjoyed 
before, and, no doubt, he made considerable progress in the 
course of it towards that distinguished position in her favour and 
confidence, in which it was his lot eventually to be placed. 

Occasionally, however, they talked of little matters connected 
with the scene before their eyes and the people whirling about 
them. 

Mrs. Mountjoy, for example, wanted to know — “ Who was 
the important little man dancing with Miss Barsac?” 

“ My dry old friend Amontillado !” said Primrose. “ But the 
man, let me see, I ought to know him, — why it’s little Griffin, 
who purloined Reuben’s paper on heraldry, and sold it for the 
place of Rouge-Dragon, or Blue-Mantle. In common justice, he 
ought to be dancing on the tread-mill at this moment.” 

“ Now, is it possible such a wretch can be popular in society ? 
I have heard of a set of men called diners-out. Surely, Mr, 
Griffin cannot be one of them.” y 

“ Griffin dines very seldom out,” saia Primrose, “ when the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 229 

town is healthy ; he gets an invitation now and then when in- 
fluenza is going, or the cholera.” 

“ Is he a doctor ?” 

Primrose laughed. 

“ No, no, he is not a doctor, but during epidemics people are 
constantly getting apologies ; they must fill up their tables, and 
they ask people like my friend Blue-Mantle, of whom they never 
think except under such desperate circumstances.” 

“Very amusing,” said Mrs. Mountjoy ; “now who is the 
man dancing with Miss Jane Barsac?” 

“A youth unknown to fame, at all events to me,” said Prim- 
rose. “ One is not bound to know people in a house like this, 
though as a general rule one ought to know everybody ; in fact, 
to live in London, one should know two things, who’s who, and 
what’s what. I can’t think of any other branch of knowledge 
that’s absolutely necessary.” 

“ What would Reuben say to that ?” said Mrs. Mountjoy. 

“ But see !” said Hyacinth, “ here is Mr. Barsac coming to- 
wards us, with some design, I fancy, upon you.” 

“ To take me down to supper. How particularly great he is 
to-night ; he reminds me of a nabob.” 

“Nabobbery itself,” said Hyacinth; “that must be the Lord 
Mayor’s chain he has to his watch, and observe the conservatory 
in his button-hole ! He resembles Lombard-street and Covent- 
garden combined.” 

“ He reminds me,” said De Tabley, who was passing, “of one 
of his own magnums; I doubt if many of them have got such 
a bouquet.” 

Mr. Barsac led Mrs. Mountjoy to supper with great state and 
ceremony, talking of nothing under a coronet the whole of the 
way, and speaking much less to be heard by her than to produce 
an imposing effect upon his mob of guests, particularly Mr. Lead- 
enhall and Sir Finch Goldfinch ; and upon far the greater pro- 
portion of them he probably succeeded in producing the effect 
lie desired. The merchant was immediately followed by corpu- 
lent Lord Greenwich, conducting Mrs. Barsac ; next went Win- 
ning with Mrs. Wyndham. The order of the rest is of little 
consequence. As to Primrose, he slipped down alone, with a 
view to get near Mrs. Mountjoy again, and save her from being 
bored to death by Barsac’s dull pomposity. 

But the precaution was superfluous. Just as Mrs. Wyndham 
reached the door of the supper-room, a servant put a slip of pa- 


230 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ! 


per carelessly folded and directed in a scarce legible scrawl, into 
her hands. The haste and agitation with which she opened and 
read it, dropping* Winning’s arm and her fan at the same mo- 
ment, left no doubt upon the mind of auy one who observed what 
took place that it was a dispatch from, the Dean. He had just 
arrived in town, and, with his usual singularity, had gone to his 
daughter’s lodgings in Burlington Gardens, instead of to his 
father-in-law’s house in Portland Place. The note communicated 
in the driest and fewest terms possible, the fact of the writer’s 
elevation to the bench, and commanded his wife’s immediate at- 
tendance. 

Mrs. Wvndham and Mrs. Mountjoy flew to him without a 
moment’s delay, while the Barsacs hastened to disseminate among 
their company, in as easy and indifferent a tone as they could 
assume, the important fact that their son-in-law was Bishop of 
Shrewsbury. 

Mrs. Mountjoy wrote Reuben a few lines that very night be- 
fore she retired to rest, to apprise him of what had occurred. She 
flattered herself that, even if his speech had been destroyed to 
no purpose, her letter would arrive in time to prevent any thing 
unpleasant happening at Chichester. But that ill-advised young 
man, the victim at once of his own and his mother’s vanity, had 
already taken the fatal step which rendered all the kind offices 
of his judicious friends totally unavailing. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE TREMENDOUS DEMONSTRATION. 

Mr. Primrose’s conjecture hit the mark only too truly. Al- 
though Mr. Medlicott had been annoyed and embarrassed by the 
loss of his speech, the toil of composition, the collection of the 
flowers, the accumulation of images, the forging of the thunder- 
bolts, the hammering, the moulding, the filing, and the polishing 
had sufficiently impressed the principal portions of that great 
effort on his memory ; so that those daring ii cendiaries, his good 
aunt and his pretty grandmamma (though we must acquit them 
on the criminal charge), stand clearly convicted on the most se- 
rious part of the indictment, the count for a blunder. 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


231 


The “ great and important clay” arrived ; the mighty meet- 
ing, the “ tremendous demonstration,” was held at Chichester, 
and went off with only too much eclat for the most conspicuous 
personage who figured at it. 

All “ tremendous demonstrations” resemble one another very 
closely ; an excited knot of noblemen and gentlemen on a plat- 
form, a tumultuous sea of heads on the floor, an agitated bevy 
of mothers, aunts, and sisters in a gallery, a little table for re- 
porters, a peer in the chair, if a peer can be found to fill it, but 
never anything beneath the baronetage. On the present occa- 
sion, the platform was thronged with parsons and squires until it 
overflowed ; and every now and then a vicar, or a pair of top- 
boots, came tumbling down among the smock-frocks, who united 
their shoulders to heave him up again. When this disaster be- 
fel a man of ordinary dimensions, he was reinstated on the plat- 
form with no great difficulty ; but when it happened to public 
characters of more than average weight, the attempt to replace 
them sometimes proved as ineffectual as in the case of the cele- 
brated Humpty Dumpty in the nursery rhyme. It was unques- 
tionably “ a tremendous demonstration” of the lungs of the men 
of Sussex. John Bull bellowed like a herd of his four-footed 
namesakes, and the Protestant lion roared his best, without the 
slightest respect to the nerves of the ladies. Bottom would have 
been greatly scandalised. Awful resolutions were proposed by 
peers, and seconded by commoners, but as to the eloquence, it 
was uniformly stifled by its own applause, and perished for ever 
in the premature raptures of the audience. It was proved, how- 
ever, beyond a doubt, that there were two Curtii present, ready 
to jump into any chasm which the British soil might please to 
open beneath their feet ; a Brutus in buckskin was equally pre- 
pared to sacrifice all the private affections to the public welfare ; 
as to Sydneys, Hampdens, and Bussells, they appeared that day 
in a force that reflected undying honour upon the patriotism of 
Englishmen. How often Popery was flatly negatived with the 
energy of Cromwell himself, is not to be told in figures ; but 
three orators, at least, pledged their lives and fortunes to defend 
the throne and the altar ; the same number of prophetic voices 
foretold the sunset of British liberty ; and thrice three times was 
it powerfully urged upon the vast assembly to unite, heart and 
hand, in “ a strong pull, a long pull, and a pull altogether ” 

In the front of the gallery assigned to the ladies, who came 
to brave the roaring of the lion aforesaid, sat Mrs. Medlicott, and 


232 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


Hannah and Mary Hopkins. Their eyes were riveted on the 
platform, but it was not on the chairman they gazed, although 
he was the Earl of Stromness, nor on the Vicar, for he was lost 
in the crowd, nor on Mr. Pigwidgeon, ludicrous figure as he cut, 
for there was no novelty in that — you had only to watch the 
point where the three lines of female vision united, to convince 
yourself that they sought nothing, saw nothing, thought of noth- 
ing during that great day and demonstration, but the youngest 
of the patriot band, he who came to dedicate the first-fruits of 
his talents and his fame to the service of his creed and his coun- 
try. Probably few of the ladies present had been unobservant 
of Reuben from an early period of the day, for he was conspicu- 
ous not only by his handsome person, but by his dress, which 
could scarcely have been gayer or more elaborate had he been 
going to be married, instead of only going to make a speech. 
His hair, artfully divided, shone like Apollo’s, and flowed on his 
shoulders almost as wantonly as in his boyhood; a bouquet, 
nearly as large as Barsac’s, bloomed in his button-hole ; and the 
virgin whiteness of his gloves typified the maiden eloquence with 
which he was about to enchant the world. The foppery was not 
entirely his own; the gloves were due to his mother, the flowers 
had been insisted on and even arranged on his breast by the 
young Quakeress. Nor was it amiss that so much care had been 
bestowed on his toilette ; for had he been confounded with the 
parsons and the squires, his rising would not have commanded 
the attention that it it did, and his oratory would probably have 
been lost, like that of the rest, in the incessant uproar of the 
meeting. 

Everything, however, was propitious, but, perhaps, most of 
all, the emphatic and gracious manner in which the Earl of Strom- 
ness, a man of the highest courtesy, introduced him to the 
audience, as “ the son of his respected friend, the Rev. Thomas 
Medlicott.” 

Instantly the chawbacons, hundreds of whom were the Earl’s 
tenants, raised a shout that well nigh brought down the roof of 
the Court-house. The din was little in unison with the modesty 
and gentleness with which the palpitating Reuben took his place 
in the front of the platform. His rising was soft as the south 
wind'; and you might have marked its effects in the female gal- 
lery, how the breeze fluttered the bonnets, rustled among the 
ribbons, and especially how it made the maternal stomacher rise 
and fall, like a sail when the wind is irresolute. He rose, he 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


233 


spoke, he triumphed. His was the only speech that was not 
only delivered, but of which a considerable portion was heard. 
A most excellent speech it was of the school of oratory it belonged 
to, though there were principles of eloquence by which it would 
have been cruel to have tried it. If, however, it had the defects 
of youth, it had its merits also; it was fresh, it was fiery, it was 
animated and courageous. There was not a Quintilian in the 
meeting to find fault with it. Tried by the test of success, not 
Demosthenes himself could have gained a completer victory. Up 
flew a cloud of hats before the exordium was over; the orator 
was actually invisible for a second. The same demonstration 
was repeated a score of times ; upon one occasion Mr. Pigwidgeon 
(who was striking another stroke for a dinner) must throw up his 
beaver among the rest, and he never recovered it, for it fell 
among the mob, and was trampled to pieces in an instant. The 
hat was not worth sixpence, but he vowed it was a new one — a 
thing he had never been known to possess in his life. What 
signified Mr. Pigwidgeon’s hat, or Mr. Pigwidgeon himself? 
Even Protestantism was forgotten in the excitement and enthu- 
siasm occasioned by the flowers of Reuben’s rhetoric, not unaided 
by the flowers in liis coat. If one passage outshone another, 
where all was splendour, it was the dangerous topic of apostacy — 
the graphic picture of a renegade divine, which reached its climax, 
when the orator described the vain endeavours of such a fallen 
character to regain his lost position, and imagined the reception 
he would assuredly meet with from every honest man. Here he 
turned to good account the lines in Milton : — 

Think’st thou, revolted spirit, thy shape the same 

Or undiminished glory, as when once 

Thou stood’st erect in heav’n, erect and pure. 

The air was darkened with waving hats again ; the enthusiasm 
mounted to the galleries, the women waved their handkerchiefs 
wildly, and Mrs. Medlicott and the Quakeresses, who had taken 
off their bonnets in consequence of the heat, tossed them about 
fanatically, and almost forgot their sex in the violence of their 
transports. 

In short, it was a relief to everybody when the last dolt was 
launched, and the last long-protracted peal of applause greeted 
the solemn and high-wrought peroration. 

The Vicar himself, though not nearly so susceptible as his 
wife, was carded away by his son’s eloquence almost as much as 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

she was, although he forbore from expressing his feelings with 
equal energy, partly from his native reserve, partly out of regard 
for his hat. At the door of the court-house he was overwhelmed 
with congratulations. Old Matthew Cox, with a tear in his eyes, 
shook his hand, but said nothing. Mr. Broad was like a mad- 
man. The apothecary pretended that only for his exertions the 
mob would have insisted on carrying Reuben home on their 
shoulders. Lord Stromness came up to the Vicar in the kindest 
manner, and told him that his son had made one of the most 
effective speeches he had ever heard in his life. “ That portrait 
of a turncoat,” said the Earl, “ was quite a masterpiece.” 

The next moment a servant handed Mr. Medlicott the letter 
from Mrs. Mountjoy, informing him, in substance, that the most 
conspicuous turncoat in England was his father-in-law. 

“A pretty kettle of fish,” said the Vicar, as, with visible 
agitation, he put the letter in his wife’s hands. She almost 
shrieked when she came to the announcement of her father’s 
promotion. 

“ A pretty kettle of fish,” said the Vicar. 

Reuben turned white when he received the news. His mother 
and he exchanged looks in silence. In his countenance there 
was nothing but pride and resentment ; in hers were depicted 
the same feelings, but mixed with vexation and regret. The 
poor Quakeresses were quite at a loss to comprehend what was 
in the wind, seeing joy and triumph so soon turned into chagrin 
and disappointment ; and they were still more at a loss to under- 
stand matters, when they learned that all arose from the an- 
nouncement that Dean Wyndham was Bishop of Shrewsbury. 

“ I don’t believe it yet,” said Mrs. Medlicott, abruptly laying 
down her fork in the middle of the silent dinner; “I can’t bring 
myself to believe it.” 

“At all events,” said Reuben, W I shall never regret having 
told the truth.” 

“Thou never wilt have cause,” said poor Mary Hopkins, 
enthusiastically. 

“At the same time,” said the Vicar, in a low and very serious 
key, “ I hope the truth you have told will be confined pretty 
much to our own neighbourhood ; I should not like it to travel 
up to London.” 

He had scarcely uttered the words, when in bustled Mr. Pig- 
widgeon to say that he had taken measures to secure a full report 
of Reuben’s speech in the “ Chichester Mercury,” and some other 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 235 

provincial organ, with which he had some influence or con- 
nexion. 

“ Thank you very much for your kind offices,” said the Vicar, 
drily, and biting his lip, “ but my son is content with the repu- 
tation he has made among his friends here ; he has no ambition 
to be a political character; in fact,” he added, rising from the ta- 
ble, approaching the apothecary, and speaking in a lower but 
more earnest tone, u if you could induce the papers you mention 
to report us as concisely as possible, we should take it as a par- 
ticular favour.” 

The fawning apothecary shook his head and said, “ he feared 
that would be quite out of the question ; Master Reuben’s speech 
■was the speech of the day, and a report of the meeting without 
it would be the play of Hamlet, with Hamlet’s part omitted.” 

“ That’s very true,” said Mrs. Medlicott, still unable to see her 
way clearly through Reuben’s unlucky laurels. 

“ What does my eloquent friend say himself ?” said Mr. Pig- 
widgeon. 

Reuben replied, not without more vain-glory than quite be- 
came him, that he had thought it his duty to express his senti- 
ments freely and boldly on the late occasion ; but, that duty hav- 
_ng been performed, he would leave it to others to decide whether 
it would be of service, or the contrary, to the cause he had advo- 
cated, that his speech should be circulated through the empire. 

“Upon that there can be but one opinion,” said the flattering, 
false Pigwidgeon. 

“Possibly,” said the Vicar, drawing him aside; “but I am 
averse to unnecessary publicity upon many accounts; in fact I 
am anxious on the point; go and use your influence to have the 
reports short, and come back and sup with us. There. will be a 
venison hash and a roast pullet, and we will not sit down until 
you return, if you don’t come back till midnight.” 

The apothecary had been aware that a present of a haunch 
from Lord Stromness had recently been received at the Vicarage, 
and that it had regaled the committee of management, which Mr. 
Medlicott had entertained on the preceding day; but he had 
given up all hopes of partaking of it in any form, so that when 
he heard of the hash, it sounded in his ears melodiously, then 
pleasant!} - affected his imagination, and finally made his lips 
water. As he drove to Chichester in his gig, he had time, how- 
ever, for other thoughts, and among his various mental employ- 
ments, he puzzled himself thinking what could possibly be the 
Vicar’s reason for wishing to suppress his son’s speech. While 


236 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


be was trying to solve this riddle, he saw a gentleman on horse- 
back approaching him, who proved to be his patient, Mr. Old- 
port. Pigwidgeon asked if any news had arrived from London ? 

“ News, indeed,” said the Canon, “ very agreeable news for 
me, and still more agreeable for your old acquaintance Medlicott, 
— the mitre has fallen on my friend Wyndham’s head at last.” 

“You don’t say so,” said the apothecary in his gig. 

“ I have it under his own hand and seal,” said the Canon. 
“'Here’s his letter for you to read :” and he fumbled in his pocket, 
drew forth the Dean’s letter, and handed it to Pigwidgeon, who 
read it greedily. 

“You see,” said the Canon, “he is very angry with you all 
for getting up that meeting, and by the by, let me ask, what 
could have possessed Medlicott to allow his son to come out so 
strongly as I ayi told he did ; why it was just the very thing to 
put his grandfather beside himself.” 

“Then he is ratting with the ministry?” said the apothecary. 

“To be sure he is,” said the Canon, “if ratting is the word. 
Do you think he got the bishopric on condition of opposing 
them ?” 

“ I see,” said Pigwidgeon. 

The Canon ambled home, and the apothecary trotted into 
town, now in full possession of the Vicar’s motives for desiring to 
cushion his son’s oratory. After visiting the newspaper-offices, 
he trotted back again to the Vicarage, which he reached in rea- 
sonable time to enjoy the hash, the pullet, and a bottle of the 
Vicar’s best wine. Of his mission he said very little, only shook 
his head, winked a great deal, protested he had done his best; 
what more could Pigwidgeon do ? The Vicar loaded the apothe- 
cary’s plate, replenished his glass often, and waited for the pa- 
pers of the morning. 

It then appeared, not that the apothecary had not used his 
best exertions, but that he did not possess as much influence as he 
boasted over the public press of Chichester. One newspaper, the 
Mercury, printed Reuben’s oration at full length ; the other pub- 
lished only an abstract of the greater part, but gave the objec- 
tionable passages in full, which of course had the etfect of making 
them doubly conspicuous and doubly offensive. 

So strong is the principle of maternal vanity, that Mrs. Med- 
licott was more pleased by seeing her Reuben’s oratory in print, 
than distressed to think of the ill blood it was calculated to pro- 
duce in the family, and the injury it was so likely to do the 
young man himself 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


237 


As to the latter personage, he had made up his mind to stand 
by his grandfather’s cast-off opinions and principles at all risks. 
Nothing annoyed Reuben so much in the whole affair, as the 
blundering of the Mercury, which utterly destroyed his quotation 
from Milton, by giving “revolting spirit” instead of “revolted.” 

This alone would have suggested the expediency of present- 
ing the public with a revised and authentic report of his speech, 
which he accordingly did before the expiration of a week, in the 
form of a pamphlet. Mary Hopkins copied it for the printers 
with her own hand. It was published at Chichester, and it was 
with no little difficulty the Vicar restrained his wife from getting 
an engraving prefixed to it from the picture which Blanche Bar- 
sac had made of Reuben when at school. The engraving was 
actually executed, and Mrs. Medlicott had already distributed 
many copies of it among her friends. 


CHAPTER V. 

A CHAPTER OF CONSEQUENCES. 

At a wonderfully early hour on the morning succeeding that 
memorable ball, at which the Dean’s conversion and its splendid 
reward had been first publicly announced, Mr. and Mrs. Barsac 
were actively engaged revolutionising all the arrangements of 
their household, to get a suite of apartments in readiness suitable 
to their notions of the rank and dignity of a bishop. Closets 
were turned into bedrooms ; governesses rose in the world, not 
much to their comfort, as happens in many elevations ; removing, 
shifting, exchanging, and packing, w r ere the order of the day; in 
short, there was no amount of inconvenience to which the Bar- 
sacs were not prepared to submit in their own persons, and inflict 
upon everybody else (particularly upon their servants and de- 
pendents), for the sake of paying all due respect to the man whom 
the King had delighted to honour. But this was not all : the 
furniture of the bed-room designed for the right reverend Prelate 
was not thought new or rich enough for him, so Barsac went im- 
mediately to the shop of one of his Majesty’s cabin et-raakers and 
upholsterers, and bought a variety of superb articles, for which 
he paid a proportionally superb price. Among others was a gor- 
geous bed, which the upholsterer, as soon as he learned that it 


238 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 


was intended to receive a bishop, proposed to hang with curtains 
of purple silk or velvet, which, with a fringe of gold lacc, w T ould, 
he conceived, be at once rich, chaste, and appropriate. - Barsac 
was of the same opinion. Indeed, it was surprising he did not 
order the arms of the see of Shrewsbury, or at least a mitre, to be 
embroidered upon the drapery. However, the canopy of purple 
and gold satisfied the merchant’s notions of what was “ chaste 
and appropriate and so expeditiously were his orders executed, 
that before dusk the same evening the upholsterer’s men were 
putting up the episcopal couch, surrounded by the Barsac fry and 
a bevy of curious maids, bereft of the faculties of speech by the 
spectacle of such magnificence. 

But, unfortunately, the Bishop did not go to Portland Place 
at all, so that all these fine preparations were thrown away upon 
him. Burlington Gardens suited him better, and as there was 
room enough in the same house with Mrs. Mountjoy, he took up 
his quarters there for the present. The Barsacs were greatly 
mortified, and it would have increased their mortification not a 
little, if they could have heard the observations the Bishop made 
upon their vulgar folly, when his daughter told him of the trouble 
and expense they had gone to. 

It was a hint to Mrs. Mountjoy. She recollected her own 
sumptuous arrangements for Reuben, and for fear of her father 
discovering them and making more of the same remarks, she 
took the prudent precaution of locking up her nephew’s room. 

The Bishop remained sequestered for some days, paid one or 
two official visits, received a few friends himself, but peremptorily 
declined to dine out, even with the Barsacs, who were most im- 
portunate, promising him nothing but quiet family parties, though, 
had he consented, they would have been capable of the perfidy of 
inviting one or two of their lordly acquaintance and customers — 
Lord Greenwich, at least — to meet him. 

The Dean — we should say, the Bishop — never thought of 
Reuben, until he was reminded of him by a congratulatory visit 
from Mr. Primrose. Then he spoke of him kindly, but dismissed 
the subject in a moment, with his usual absorption in his own 
immediate concerns. Hyacinth he received most cordially, and 
though in conversation with him he never alluded to the sketch 
of himself which had appeared a couple of years ago, in the Cam- 
bridge Miscellany, the reception he now gave the writer showed 
how extremely agreeable had been the incense offered up to him 
upon that occasion. Indeed, he told his wife and daughter pri- 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


239 


vately (and between them, it soon reached Mr. Primrose), that he 
considered himself in some measure indebted to that article for 
the professional advancement he had at length received. 

Mrs. Mountjoy, who was beginning to reciprocate the tender 
sentiments with which she had long since inspired Mr. Primrose, 
and who had also known for some time a secret not yet imparted 
to the reader — namely, that Hyacinth (as unstable as Reuben, 
but more calculating) was now much more inclined to the Church 
than lie had ever been to the bar, — Mrs. Mountjoy was gratified 
upon every account to see him standing so well in her father’s 
estimation. At the same time being a lady, who not only had a 
heart, but whose heart was always in the right place, the chief 
object of her anxiety, at present, was her nephew ; she was on 
the rack until she heard from Chichester, and when the news ar- 
rived of the occurrences there, it almost drove her distracted. 

She was informed of what took place sooner than her father. 
He read the account of the meeting for the first time in a Tory 
London newspaper, which continued to advocate his cast-off opin- 
ions. The Bishop was at breakfast. His wife and daughter were 
all in a tremor, knowing what the paper contained, and furtively 
watched him with the most fidgety anxiety, as his eye roved from 
column to column, until at length it arrived at the report cf the 
“ tremendous demonstration,” and was arrested by the name of 
Mr. Reuben Medlicott. 

What’s here?” cried the Bishop, after grunting inarticulately 
for some time over the “ Morning Post.” 

“What, sir?” faintly echoed the ladies, only too well know- 
ing what it was that had caught his attention so strongly, and 
elicited the exclamation. 

“ What Reuben Medlicott is this ? — it can’t be Eleanor’s son ? n 
looking up at Mrs. Mountjoy from beneath the shaggy portcullis 
of the eye that was next her. 

“ I suppose you are reading about the meeting at Chichester, 
sir?” she replied evasively and nervously. 

He read on for a few moments, knitting his bushy brows, and 
uttering strange sounds, alternately expressive of contempt and 
displeasure. 

“ My poor Reuben,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, in a low tone tc 
Mrs. Wyndham, but wishing to be heard by her father; “he had 
very little idea of what was to happen when he left town to at- 
tend that meeting.” 

‘ Impossible he could,” said Mrs. Wyndham, in the same key. 


240 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


“What business had he thereat all?” growled the prelate, 
lowering the paper suddenly, and scowling over it at both of them. 

To this there was no attempt at an answer. He then recom- 
menced reading, every now and then repeating aloud, either in 
mockery or indignation, some phrase that particularly struck 
him, such as “public duty” — “political principles” — “Protestant 
constitution” — and so forth, until he came to the word “ apcsta- 
cy,” which he muttered between his teeth with extreme bitter- 
ness ; then flung the paper down, exclaiming — 

“ This is worse than burning my hay-ricks !” then he stopped, 
and commenced taking his coffee. 

“Indeed, sir,” said Mrs. Mountjoy. “Reuben never intend- 
ed ” 

The Bishop desired to have more sugar. His wife, as she 
sweetened his cup, threw in a tremulous word to sweeten his 
temper also, but instead of noticing what she said, he again 
mumbled the word “ apostac} 7 ,” in a tone of fierce derision, and, 
resuming the paper, proceeded with tolerable patience until he 
came to the quotation from Milton, when he flung it from him 
once more, and never spoke again the whole morning, except to 
observe that the words were “ revolted spirit,” not “ revolting.” 

“ The fellow could not even cite a hackneyed passage correctly.” 

Mrs. Mountjoy and Mrs. Wyndham, taking Mr. Primrose into 
consultation, agreed that to make any immediate effort to mollify 
the feelings of the Bishop towards Reuben would be injudicious. 
It was better to leave it to time, which would probably have soon 
set all to rights, had not the same newspaper the following day 
singled out the new Bishop of Shrewsbury for a violent personal 
attack, and pointedly applied to him Reuben’s full-length pic lure 
of a clerical turncoat, adding with superfluous malignity that the 
eloquent speaker was nearly related to the prelate, which made 
the denunciation the more terrible and crushing. 

It was ascertained long afterwards that this unjustifiable bit 
of personality was intended to injure Mr. Medlicott as much as 
to annoy his grandfather. The author of it was Mr. Bavard, who 
never forgave Reuben for having out-talked him one day at din- 
ner, and being connected with the press took this honourable 
method of revenging it. 

However, it was useless after this to plead for Reuben. No- 
body dared to breathe his name in the Bishop’s presence. The 
Vicar wrote to him in terms little short of abject. The letter was 
not answered. Mrs. Medlicott travelled to Shrewsbury to appease 
him, but he feigned illness and refused to see her. 


OR, THE COMING MAN, 


241 


BOOK THE SEVENTH. 


* Hold your peace, Sancho,” said the Knight, “ and don’t interrupt Mi Bad e'oR 
whom I entreat to proceed ; and let me know what more is said in this sair t hist jry." 
—Don Quixote , Part II., Book L 


ARGUMENT. 

As it is the usage of certain authors to choose subjects for their books, 
more for the sake of something from which to digress, than as topics to 
pursue steadily, and themes always to keep in view; treating them, in 
fact, rather as a Station to depart from, than as a Terminus to arrive at, 
so it ia with a great many who enter the learned professions ; there is 
frequently observed between what they profess, and what they practise, 
that wide interval or discrepancy, which, when it takes place in politics 
or in private morals, we call inconsistency, or by a harsher name. IIow 
common is it not, for instance, to see the physician abandoning the cure of 
his patients, and betaking himself to quacking the body-politic; or the 
lawyer spurning the courts, as soon as he is qualified to plead, and turn- 
ing speech-maker, play-wright, place hunter, or diner-out. If we desire 
to know what manner of men these loose and often odd fish of the several 
professions are — these camp-followers of the regular troops of law, physic, 
or divinity — we shall find them invariably consisting of your clever fel- 
lows ; the clever young divine superior to the churching of women, and 
as high as the steeple above the catechising of children ; the clever doctor, 
disgusted with the hospitals, or the versatile and voluble young barrister* 
infinitely too smart to wear his wig every day and mind his business. 
The Greeks called a genius of this volatile description UoXvirpayixuv ; the 
Romans had the word ardelio to express it ; proof, if proof were wanting, 
that ancient Athens and Rome had their “ coming men,” or their Reuben 
Medlicotts, as well as modern Chichester and London. Attalus was our 
Reuben’s parallel in Martial’s days, even to the smattering of astrology. 

w Declamas belle : causas agis, Attale, belle, 
tlistorias bellas, carmina bella facis. 

Componis belle mirnos. epigrammata belle; 

Bfcllus grammaticus, bellus es astrologus. 

Nil bene cum facia.*, facis attamen emma belle. 

\ is dicam quid sis? Magnus es ardelio .” 


11 


242 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ! 


Those scatterlings of the church, the bar, and the faculty, may be said, in- 
deed, collectively to form a sort of profession of their own, the profession 
of having no definite calling; and of all vocations it is the most vocal, - 
for the men who have least to do have ever got the most to say. The 
greatest talkers of all are the ardeiios of the bar. The law is a noisy pro- 
fession when it is followed, but a noisier still when it is professed without 
being practised. Prolixity is a part of pleading which the young barris- 
ter is sure to master, though he may not pick up a grain of law, and 
when he lacks the legitimate sphere for its exercise, he bestows it on the 
public at large, with the liberality of Dogberry “bestowing all his tedi- 
ousness” on Leonato. Iron turns not more instinctively to adamant than 
does this precocious garrulity seek its natural vent in politics. The plat- 
form is its magnetic pole. Thither, with one accord, or rather with one 
voice, or better still, with one bray, rushes the whole Arcadian herd, am- 
bitious to unite their several wordy torrents to the mighty flood of speech 
and jargon by which the country is at once inundated and deafened ; a 
Deluge and a Babel at the same time. . Every one of these gentlemen is 
a Cicero, a Pericles, a Demosthenes, or an ^Esehines (at the lowest estimate) 
in some circle, club, society, or corporation of his own. Each “shakes” 
his little “arsenal,” and fulminates over his shire, or his native borough, 
or some Musical Hall, or Tavern, at the very least. Is it so very true, 
after all, that no man is a hero to his valet, or a prophet in his own country I 
The truth seems rather to be, that in a general sense evey^man has a valet 
to whom he is a hero, and a country where he enjoys prophetic honour 
and reputation. Every home has its hero ; on every hearth-stone some 
little demigod is adored, nor did Egypt ever raise altars to more prepos- 
terous divinities than are to be found in the family-worship of many a 
house in this Christian land. We have seen in more than one an ape 
receiving divine honours'; in another a parrot canonized ; what sacrifices 
have we not seen made to a puppy, what incense offered to the “ asinue 
communis” of these islands? Mothers especially have a hankering after 
strange gods, bowing the knee to the dolls and idols of their own making; 
the least blind and most orthodox of w r omen will take her donkey for a 
zebra, and adore him as a saint, if she does not absolutely worship him 
as a deity. 

»♦» 


CHAPTER I. 

ME. MEDLICOTT QUAERELS WITH TnE OITUEOIT. 

Although Mr. Medlieott quarrelled with his grandfather, it was 
by no means incumbent on him to quarrel with the Church, but 
he was hot of that opinion. lie declared himself disgusted with 
a career where the roads to eminence were sc foul and crooked. 

It was to no purpose that his father and others represented the 
injustice of drawing so sweeping a conclusion from a solitary case, 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


243 


and pointed to men on the bench of bishops who were not less 
distinguished by their genius and learning than by their consist- 
ency and honour ; reason was against Reuben, and Reuben was 
therefore against reason. 

It was a pity that talking was not a profession. Mr. Medlicott 
would have embraced it with ardour and soon obtained the degree 
of a doctor. But a man must talk with some authority, or he 
will not long have an audience to hearken to him ; in fact, he must 
procure a license to talk from one of the learned professions ; or, 
if he desires to talk in Parliament, he must obtain a warrant from 
some portion of the public, which in Reuben’s time was as pur- 
chaseable as a horse or a debenture ; nor, are we yet grown so 
desperately virtuous as not to buy and sell the same desirable 
privilege occasionally. 

The first person to put the senate into Mr. Medlicott’s head 
was not his mother, to do her justice ; it was Mr. Broad, the cut- 
ler, who, being a rapturous admirer of eloquence, as well as an 
arrant Protestant, had formed such an exalted opinion of Reuben’s 
powers since his speech at the “ tremendous demonstration,” that 
he rambled about Chichester all day long, lamenting to every- 
body he met that such an extraordinary and highly gifted young 
man was not in the proper place for him, and when people either 
did not know, or pretended not to know what he meant, then Mr. 
Broad would twitch up the long skirts of his swallow-tailed blue 
coat, throw back his head and cry — “ Why the House, sir, to be 
sure, where else ? That’s the only place for such an extraordinary 
and highly gifted young man. It’s nonsense to talk, but we 
must g*et him into Parliament by hook or by crook. I’ll subscribe 
a hundred pounds myself to purchase a borough, if it can be man- 
aged in no other way. It’s a public duty, sir, and England ex- 
pects every man to do his duty.” 

Mr. Broad was indeed so eloquent in extolling Mr. Medlicott’s 
qualifications for the senate, that people used sometimes to laugh 
and advise him to go into the house himself. 

Keep your hundred pounds for your own return, Broad, — if 
it’s talking we want in Parliament, you are just the man that will 
do it as well as Mr. Medlicott, or any man alive,” said Alderman 
Codd, a member of the corporation of Chichester. 

“ I never saw that much good came of talking in Parliament, 
or anywhere else,” said Mr. Bliss, another burgess. 

“ Talking does very well,” said a third, “ when the man what 
talks is a squire with ten thousand a year, or when he is a lord or 
a marquis.” 


244 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS) 


“ Wlien squires and lords do talk,” replied Mr. Broad, u they 
talk for themselves and not for us ; but how do they talk, sir ? 
We had a specimen of their abilities the other day at our great 
meeting. Did anybody think the squires and lords worth list- 
ening to ? Did anybody hear a syllable anybody said, or care 
sixpence to hear it, until my young friend, (if it is not too great 
a freedom to call him so,) until young Mr. Medlicott rose and 
showed us what talking was. I never knew what talking was 
until that day. As I hope to be saved, I thought my friend the 
alderman there the greatest orator living, ho, ho, ho ; but I don’t 
'zhink so now, for which I hope he wont be very angry, ho, ho, ho.” 

The alderman was so far from being angry that he laughed 
as loud as Mr. Broad, modestly admitted the immense superiority 
of our hero as a public speaker, and promised to subscribe fifty 
pounds whenever a fair occasion should arise for procuring a seat 
for the eloquent Mr. Medlicott. 

“ We’ll soon have a handsome fund, I make no doubt,” said 
the zealous cutler ; “ England expects every man to do his duty.” 

The thing went not much further, however, at that time. 
Reuben himself affected to ridicule the proposition. 

“ You must not only get me into the house,” he observed, 
somewhat ostentatiously, “ but maintain me in it ; for what am I, 
but the son of a poor country clergyman — with my bread to 
make, and nothing to depend on but my own exertions ?” 

It was full time, indeed, to think of that, and think seriously. 
He was in his five-and-twentieth year, with immense reputation 
for cleverness of all kinds ; but beyond the speech, and the rup- 
ture with his grandfather, just when his friendship would have 
been most valuable, Reuben Medlicott had done absolutely no- 
thing. 

There still remained law and physic. To the latter profession 
Reuben had entertained, since he was a child, a singular aversion, 
resulting from its association in his mind with Mr. Pig widgeon ; 
a similar distaste to that which Sir Samuel Romilly early in life 
had for the law, occasioned by the intimacy of his family with a 
particularly disagreeable attorney. In fact, if Romilly had not 
conquered that juvenile repugnance, he would have lived and 
died a poor goldsmith like his father, instead of becoming one of 
the foremost men of his age and country. 

Few of Reuben’s friends harboured a doubt of his brilliant 
success in whichever of the two professions he should selec t ; but 
the most ambitious of them advocated the ’aw, as leading to the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


245 


highest distinctions, both political and social, besides being the 
natural theatre for the talents of which he had lately given such 
extraordinary and decided proofs. Mr. Broad, who thought the 
bar a very good plan as a subsidiary to the senate, declared, from 
his experience in the jury-box, that no jury could possibly resist 
the appeals of such an orator as Master Reuben. 

“ J urors are only men, sir : I have sat upon juries for five-and- 
twenty years, and I know what juries are made of. He would 
twist them round his finger, sir, as easy as his watch-chain ; make 
them believe anything he pleased, or nothing at all, if he liked it. 
I promise him verdicts as plenty as blackberries, at least in this 
city and county. What juryman, sir, would listen to a prossy old 
judge, after hearing a spirit-stirring address from an eloquent and 
handsome young lawyer ? If he chooses the law, sir, he will make 
a fortune as sure as he earns a guinea ; in the mean time, he 
comes into the house, as a matter of course — there’s where the 
country wants him ; the next step makes him his Majesty’s At- 
torney or Solicitor General ; and from that it’s only a hop, step, 
and jump, to the bench, sir, and the House of Lords.” 

Mrs. Medlicott took much the same sober view of the case ; 
but the Vicar, and the more obstinate and wrong-headed of his 
son’s friends, had much less confidence than Mr. Broad both in 
Reuben’s oratorical talents and the susceptibilities of Sussex juries. 
These considerations, with the obvious pecuniary ones, led them 
to favour medicine ; and thus his friends were divided into two 
parties, with a little detachment of waverers, as usual, including 
Mrs. Mountjoy and Mrs. Wyndham, whose ambition sometimes 
inclined them to side with his mother in behalf of the law ; but 
at other times, when they recollected Reuben’s agreeable person, 
and sweet and engaging manners, and imagined him stepping out 
of a handsome chariot, in full-dress suit of black, to visit a duchess, 
as the celebrated Doctor Medlicott, they felt thftt this was a proud 
career also, and were very much disposed to concur with the 
Vicar. 

Physic, however, would not have suited Mr. Medlicott. The 
medical profession is a grave and silent oup : — too satuiTine for men 
of mercurial gifts , more is done by wise looks than by fir e speeches ; 
the physician, in slioi-t, has many more opportunities of seeing the 
tongues of others, than of exercising and displaying his own. 

How the balance of argument really inclined it is of little use 
to inq lire : it probably was against the law, since that was tho 
course which Mrs. Medlicott approved, and upon which her son 


246 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 

ultimately decided. And now, one J more, his friends \ led with 
one another to send him on his course with a fair wind in hi* 
sails, and a handsome outfit to trade on. Mrs. Mountjoy insisted 
on paying the rent of his chambers in King’s Bench Walk, Mr. 
Cox presented him with a hundred pounds for the foundation of 
a library, and Mr. Broad, not to be behind others, travelled up to 
London expressly, and bought him a set of massive book-cases of 
richly-carved oak, which had to be cut down considerably to 
make them suit the chambers, and even then they were not to be 
got in, except by a machinery of ropes and pulleys, through the 
windows. 

His *usual fortune attended him to the Temple. His fame 
had gone before him like a morning star, and soon he gathered 
about him another little circle of worshippers, who, captivated by 
his specious and showy talents, granted him the honours of a 
triumph on credit, without giving him the trouble of fighting any 
battle, or winning any victory. Throughout his life it was his 
fortune to be thought capable of achieving anything, while, in 
fact, he was achieving nothing but that unsolid praise which is 
so easily silenced by the simple question, “ What has he done \ ” 
He was certainly much injured by injudicious friends, but when 
he had a man of experience and sound judgment to consult, he 
seldom profited by his advice, when to follow it required a steady 
course of discipline or distasteful labour. There was something 
in Mr. Medlicott’s nature that was always in revolt against the 
practical. He had always some views of his own, which wore an 
imposing and philosophical aspect, while leading to conclusions 
utterly irreconcileable with common sense. But perhaps his 
greatest- fault of all, was, that he invariably soared too high, 
when, by attempting a less ambitious flight, he might have risen 
higher, and sustained himself longer on the wing. 

The men who knew him best predicted his failure at his new 
profession from the beginning ; some expressed their conviction 
that he would never be called to the bar. The same ample, im- 
posing, chiaroscuro discourse, which made fools gape, and think 
him a prodigy of parts, -was the very thing that made his j; Vi- 
cious friends despair of him. As to Winning, nothing terrii^T 
him so much as Reuben’s “ broad views,” for which shallow peo- 
ple were continually extolling him, until at length he thought 
himself called on to support a character for “ broad view$,” and 
take a “ broad view ” of every question presented to him. He 
consulted Winning as to the particular line he should take in his 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


247 


legal studies. “ I have given him” said Winning, afterwards, 
“ the best advice in my power, and now I leave him — to neglect 
it, as I am certain he will do.” 

There was something in the mind of our “coming man” 
more French than English in its character. He had the French- 
man’s national passion tor abstract ideas, that passion, which (as 
Sir James Stephen has truly remarked) animates not the books 
of the French only, but their discourses in the senate, their 
speeches at the bar, their conversations in their clubs and salons. 
Reuben had acquired the habit of making abstractions as other 
men do the habit of rhyming or joking. He could be transcen- 
dental, at a moment’s notice, upon anything, or upon nothing at 
all. His mind, like a distempered stomach, rejected everything 
solid and substantial. Facts would never lie on it for a moment. 
It lived upon intellectual trifle and whip’t cream, upon half-mean- 
ings and no-meanings, with the appetite of a chameleon for air, 
or the devotion of the comic Socrates to the clouds. In short it 
was a petticoated mind, floating in muslins, swimming in gauzes, 
and fluttering with gay ribbons, an admirable mind to bustle and 
rustle through life with, if life were a conversazione, or the woild 
a mere Debating Society. 


CHAPTER IL 

MR. MEDLICOTT IS CALLED TO THE BAR. 

In one respect, however, Mr. Medlicott did not fulfil the predic- 
tions of those who best knew him, for he was called to the bar in 
due season, after three years spent in many pursuits very loosely 
connected with the law, and some far enough removed from it. 
There was a place at the profession for him, in which, with very 
little knowledge, his peculiar talents might have been brought 
into play with effect and profit 

Those only who understand the secrets of the craft are able 
to form an idea with how small a pittance of legal learning the 
very highest honours of the bar are attainable, and frequently 
attained by men of ordinary acuteness, shrewd enough to hide 
their ignorance, and confident eiv vgh to make the best use ot the 
little information they possess. At Nisi Prius especially, with 


248 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


plenty of tongue for the jury, and a few points of . aw for the 
court, or rather to impose on the attorneys, some men manage to 
turn their brass into gold rapidly. The “progress of a lawyer” 
would be admirable matter for a satiric poem. A very useful es- 
say, also, might be written upon the ^various causes both of suc- 
cess and failure in the profession, upon its high-ways and bye- 
ways, its blanks and its prizes, the marvellous fortunes of a few, 
and the rocks that many split on. As to Mr. Medlicott, he split 
not upon one rock, but on several — he went to pieces on a 
reef. 

In the first place he took one of his excessively broad views, 
and aimed at being a constitutional lawyer, and a jurist forsooth. 
He filled his superb book-cases with the State Trials and Rhy- 
mer’s Fax! era, with Montesquieu and Bentham, Vattel and Gro- 
tius. He had heard of the study of the English law nan-owing 
the mind, and being determined that his own at least should not 
be narrowed by it, he paid -considerable attention to the law of 
nations, and the Code Napoleon. Nor was he content with thus 
expanding his faculties in the privacy of his chambers ; he made 
all his acquaintance fully aware of the range of his researches ; 
the Pandects were his table-talk ; he harangued upon the casus 
belli , until he got the nickname of Puffendorf ; and just about 
the time that he bought his wig and formally presented himself 
do the public as a practising barrister, he not only published a big 
pamphlet on Codification, but talked at large wherever he went 
of a design of editing Vattel. 

Should the reader, unacquainted with such matters, be at a 
loss to understand the propriety of these studies, undertakings, 
and proceedings, considering Mr. Medlicott’s declared professional 
views, it will assist his perceptions to imagine the Duke of Wel- 
lington in the peninsular war devoting himself to the geology of 
Spain, or Professor Airy, during a transit of Venus, engrossed 
with the last new novel. 

The pamphlet on Codification, however, brought its author 
into connexion with a law-bookseller, named Trevor, who was 
mightily taken with Mr. Medlicott, and did all in his power to 
serve him. 

Mr. Trevor had a box at Hampstead, where Reuben soon be- 
came a regular guest on Sundays, when there was always a social 
little audience, partly literary, partly legal, assembled round a com- 
fortable dinner to listen to his dissertations on the “ casus belli.” 
Between two of the hcibilues of this house, a proctor named 


Olt, THE COMING MAN. 


249 


Fox, and an attorney of the name of Reynard, Mr. Medlic fft 
was somewhat in the position of Lucian in his dream, with art 
and literature pulling him in opposite directions. The proctor 
wanted to entice him into the Arches Court, and urged him to 
take a doctor’s degree ; the attorney was equally bent upon 
marking him for his own,” and securing him exclusively for 
"Nisi Priiis. 

Sometimes Mr. Fox would get him all to himself, and almost 
persuade him to enter the lists with Lushington ; again the at- 
torney would have the advantage, in the other’s absence, and 
Reuben would persevere in his design of disputing the palm with 
Scarlett. Mr. Reynard, however, it was observable (being a 
man of more prudence than sincerity), though he put down some 
thousands as a moderate calculation of Mr. Medlieott’s probable 
income in a few years, allowed term after term to pass, without 
sending him a single guinea from his own office. 

In one respect, it must be admitted, Mr. Medlieott’s acquaint- 
ance with Mr. Trevor was a humiliating one. Instead of bring- 
ing him celebrity, it brought him nothing but sordid money. 
Mr. Trevor not only dissuaded him from his edition of Vattel, 
which would have been a pure addition to his fame, but he threw 
some humdrum business in his way, which was not merely profit- 
able, but calculated to advance him in the vulgar and plodding 
track of the profession. The first job put a hundred guineas in 
his purse, the second and third still larger sums ; between the 
three he netted upwards of five hundred pounds, which Mr. 
Trevor thought a very good thing for a briefless barrister, particu- 
larly as the employment was of that kind which tended to attract 
briefs, instead of repelling them. 

But Mr. Medlicott himself was inexpressibly disgusted at such 
success. Doing well, indeed, but in what a paltry and obscure 
way ! No applause, no distinction — a name like his on the title- 
page of a book of practice ; he felt his mind growing narrow 
already ; his five hundred gave him no satisfaction ; it weighed 
down his spirits while it weighed down his pockets ; in fine, he 
magnanimously determined (encouraged most probably in his 
noble resolution, not only by his mother’s letters, but by his aunt’s 
remittances) that he would go through no more of such base, 
servile drudgery, for any pecuniary consideration. The earnest- 
ness of this declaration was soon tested. Trevor made another 
offer, and still more favourable than the preceding ones. Mr. 
Medlicott declined it, and Trevor never troubled him again with 
11 * 


250 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 

propositions of the kind. Dining the same day at the Temple, 
Mr. Medlicott vaingloriously related his refusal to work any more 
for the law-booksellers ; several of his friends applauded him 
loudly, some shook their heads dubiously, and one plain-spoken 
man, more good-humouredly than politely, told him he was a 
fool. The next morning, one of the friends who had been fore- 
most in commending him for scorning to be a bookseller’s hack, 
called on him in his chambers, and begged an introduction to 
Mr. Trevor, confessing that he was a poor fellow, under the ne- 
cessity of putting his pride in his pocket, and prepared to do so, . 
if the publisher would employ hinj, even for a much smaller sum 
than had been offered Medlicott. Reuben was now in the proud 
position of a patron of industry, and very frankly and generously 
did he perform the duties of that office, flattering himself with 
the notion that he was not less industrious, but only more ambi- 
tious, than the honest poor fellow who stepped into his shoes. 

In the same elevated frame of mind, he disdained to cultivate 
the attorneys. Mr. Trevor, who continued to wish him well, gave 
him more than one hint to take his friend Reynard down to 
Greenwich in the white-bait season, but Mr. Medlicott not only 
neglected the suggestion, but actually went out of his way to 
entertain the Proctor, which was the most superfluous hospitality 
in the world. 

He made, however, some useful acquaintances, without 
courting them: he met a few attorneys here and there, in the 
chambers of his friends, or up and down the world, and stole 
the hearts of one or two of them, without the least deliberate in- 
tention of committing such petty larceny. Thus the guineas 
did, in process of time, begin to flaw in — not in an actual Pac- 
tolus, certainly, but in a pretty little sparkling streamlet, very 
agreeable to contemplate, and wonderfully interesting for a sea- 
son even to the young lawyer himself, though Mammon had 
never a much less devoted servant. 

When the rumour that he* was making money crept into the 
provinces, and got as far as Chichester, it made a prodigious sen- 
sation among his relatives and friends there, gratified even his 
mother (wondrous to tell), but pleased nobody more than Mr. 
Broad, who multiplied every guinea in his imagination by ten, 
and even by larger multipliers, until he began already to fancy 
Reuben very near the top of the ladder, and a dangerous rival 
to the chiefs of the bar. 

Mr. Medlicott’s fee-book showed that he received fifty guineas 


251 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 

in liis first year of practice, nearly twice that amount in the 
second, and the third year lie realised a sum w, jch, with some 
money that remained over from his transactions with Trevor, 
amounted to about a thousand pounds, which, acting on the ad- 
vice of Mr. Trevor, he invested in certain Brazilian mines, con- 
sidered at that time an eligible speculation. 

This was palpable success, and the more remarkable as the 
success of a man who seemed to be prospering in spite of him- 
self; for he considered the business which came to his share as a 
junior rather derogatory to him than otherwise — spoke of it with 
supreme contempt, and went through it with an air of supercili- 
ousness, as if he scorned to be employed except in weighty 
causes. A little avarice mixed with Reuben’s ambition would 
have made a better working metal of it; but he cared much too 
little for money, particularly for money obscurely earned in King’s 
Bench Walk, without reputation, and without even newspaper 
notoriety. The fastidiousness with which he accepted busiuess 
was enough of itself to prevent its rapid accumulation. The at- 
torneys were not over-anxious to employ a man who was osten- 
tatiously indifferent whether he was employed or not; and he 
that disdains his work, or takes it in hand squeamishly or lan- 
guidly, is not likely to execute it either with care or punctuality. 
Reuben lost one attorney by not keeping time ; another by not 
keeping to his instructions ; a third by not keeping to himself 
the contempt he entertained for the formalities and prolixities of 
the profession. The most perverse of all his complaints was his 
objection to prolixity, which he was only averse to when it was 
in the way of his vocation, and tended to put money in his 
purse. 

•«« 


CHAPTER IIL 

A El VAX OEATOE. 

But his forensic career was distinguished by something more 
whimsical still than even his perverse dislike for that prolixity 
which was in his day as much the soul of law. as brevity has 
been said to be the soul of wit. There was one short, very short, 
period of Mr. Medlicott’s life, in which (extraordinary to relate) he 
conceived an actual aversion to the exercises of that faculty which, 


252 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


in him, predominated over all other endowments ; — a parei thesis 
of his existence when a spirit of silence obtained temporary mas- 
tery over him, which, if it had kept its ground, might have de- 
graded him into a common-place sensible man, and a mere use- 
ful working member of society. Most whimsically did it happen 
that this quarrel with his tongue, as it were, occurred while he 
was at the bar, which is not usually the profession that leads men 
to talk less than they are disposed to talk by nature. A circum- 
stance, however, happened, which for a time thoroughly dis- 
gusted Reuben with rhetorical exhibitions. He had attended 
Professor Chatterton’s course of lectures on pulpit oratory, and 
with such satisfactory results, as he believed, that he now resolved 
to give himself the benefit of that gentleman’s instructions to law- 
yers, and for that purpose returned to the school of eloquence in 
Leicester Square, and enrolled himself again among its pupils. 
Having attended the public course, and still fancying himself not 
quite perfect in some points of importance in addressing juries, Mr. 
Medlicott continued to avail himself privately of the Professor’s 
services for some time longer. One day, arriving before his ap- 
pointed hour, he was under the necessity of waiting in an ante- 
room, while Mr. Chatterton was concluding a lesson which he 
was giving to another pupil ft the adjoining apartment. The 
declamation was loud enough to be distinctly heard through walls 
and doors twice as thick as those which separated the chambers. 
Not many moments elapsed before Reuben’s ear caught the name 
of Coriolanus. He smiled to recollect his own juvenile effort on 
that theme, and listened with some curiosity to the harangue on 
the same subject which the unseen orator was vociferating with 
most stentorian lungs, occasionally interrupted by the Professor’s 
remarks and repetitions. Soon a sublime figure of rhetoric oc- 
curred, which was decidedly “ his own thunder.” Presently he 
recognised a second gem filched from his casket. Then a third, 
his own property, if he had a right to anything. Before he had 
been listening for five minutes, he discovered that it was actually 
his own old speech, image for image, and word for word, which 
was shaking the house to its foundations. This diverted, sur- 
prised, and puzzled him extremely. Who could the orator be, 
and how could anybody have got possession of the speech? 
Reuben knew the very press in his mother’s room at Underwood, 
and the very shelf, where the only existing copy of it was depo- 
sited, among many other such literary treasures. While still he 
wondered, the storm of elocution suddenly ceased, the lecture was 


OR, TEE COMING MAN, 


253 


over, and the thunderer having retired by the usual private pas- 
sage, Professor Chatterton entered the room where Reuben was 
waiting to take his turn. 

Reuben congratulated him upon the proficiency of his pupil 
who had just departed. 

“ Ah, that is a prodigy,” said the professor. “ Excepting your- 
self, sir, he promises to do me more credit than any gentleman I 
ever had the honour of instructing.” 

“Is lia intended for the church, or the bar ?” asked Mr. 
Medlicott. 

“ Neither,” said Chatterton ; “he is cultivating eloquence purely 
for its own sake. He possesses the talent, and he has the laud- 
able ambition to improve it. Indeed, he is in a profession 
where it cannot be of much practical use to him, — he is a 
doctor.” 

“I suppose his name is a secret — I wouldn’t ask you to 
reveal it for the world.” 

“ Well,” quoth the Professor, “ as a general rule, I am as 
secret as the Inquisition, but in this case I feel myself free, espe- 
cially with you, — it’s a droll name enough — Doctor Pigwid- 
geon.” 

So diametrically opposed to one another were the ideas of 
Pigwidgeon and oratory, that Reuben would never have thought 
of him, of all the doctors in England, although it was now so 
easy to understand how he had come by the speech on Corio- 
lanus. A few days later he met the Professor in the street, and 
was invited to go with him in the evening to attend a meeting 
of the Cicero Club, of which the eloquent doctor was a member, 
and where upon that night he was expected to make a grand 
display of his powers, upon one of the exciting questions of the 
hour. Reuben’s curiosity induced him to consent, provided he 
could maintain a strict incognito, which Chatterton satisfied him 
would be easily managed, the arrangements of the place being 
favourable to it. Accordingly, enveloped in an ample cloak, and 
with his hat pulled sufficiently down over his eyes, Reuben ac- 
companied Mr. Chatterton to the Cicero at the proper hour, and 
further to elude observation, took his seat on the bench behind 
the Professor, in the gallery set apart for strangers. Long before 
Doctor Pigwidgeon spoke, it was obvious that he was the orator 
par excellence of the society. He looked the leader, every inch ; 
and swaggered about the room, like O’Connell at the Corn Ex- 
change, or Henry Hunt in Covent Garden. There was bluster in 


254 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS | 


his face, even when he was not speaking ; he laughed, cheered, 
coughed, and even listened like a bully. Proud was the Profes- 
sor to see with his own eyes how great his pupil was among the 
Ciceronians ; but when he rose to speak, he astonished Reuben 
himself by his prodigious command of words, and the ceaseless 
torrent with which he poured them forth. The abundance was 
so overwhelming, that several minutes elapsed before the severest 
auditor could have discovered the almost total absence of all 
rational drift in the discourse. There was in Pigwidgeon’s oratory 
none of that false show of argument, none of those pretty decep- 
tive half-meanings, none of that radiant mist of language"(in itself 
elegant and pleasing to both the ear and the fancy), which made 
Mr. Medlicott’s eloquence pass current even with many persons 
of superior education. The Doctor was literally “ vox et preterea 
nihil there was the mist without the least sparkle in it ; the 
merest bray that was ever mistaken for rhetoric, for in fact (as 
Reuben well knew) the fellow had neither common sense, know- 
ledge, or imagination, notwithstanding all that had been done 
for his mental development. Yet, without .one of these qualities, 
he made the foremost figure in his club ; the close of every period, 
no matter how barren of all appreciable signification, was received 
with the most painful explosions of applause, to such a degree that 
Tully himself could not possibly have been more admired, if 
indeed the true orator could have escaped being coughed down 
by the audience tW extolled Doctor Pigwidgeon. All this 
disgusted Reuben beyond conception ; particularly when he ob- 
served how carefully the Doctor availed himself of the Professor’s 
instructions, and with what delight and triumph that great master 
of elocution witnessed the successful application of his precepts 
to practice. So elated was Chatterton, that at the end of the 
speech he attracted the Doctor’s notice by the extravagance of 
his complimentary demonstrations. In a moment the pupil was 
in the Professor’s arms ; and the reader must only imagine De- 
mosthenes, after one of his mightiest victories, in the embraces 
of Issrus, or Isocrates, whichever had the honour of instructing 
him, that point being undecided. For Reuben now to escape 
recognition was impossible, despite of all his precautions. Chat- 
terton was as much delighted as surprised to find that the 
two pupils he was most proud of were old acquaintances and 
friends, for indeed the Doctor could not have testified more rap- 
ture at meeting Reuben, had they been brothers. A difficult 
thing it was to bestow the commendation upon that speech which 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


255 


the young doctor expected, and the young lawyer could not de- 
cently withhold. Reuben did his best under the circumstances, 
but it was done so hesitatingly, and with such manifest repug- 
nance, as naturally enough to suggest the idea that he grudged 
Pigwidgeon the laurels with which he was compelled to wreath 
his brow, or, in other words, that the wonderful effort he had 
witnessed had excited in his breast the passion of envy. Whether 
Chatterton suspected this, or not, he thought of nothing now but 
closing the night with a festivity worthy of its commencement, 
and for this purpose he invited his pupils to a supper at a cele- 
brated tavern in the neighbourhood. Pigwidgeon embraced the 
offer as warmly as he had embraced Reuben, but to the taste of 
the latter, the notion of supping with the Doctor was even more 
revolting than the necessity of complimenting his rhetoric ; so, 
declining the invitation with an abruptness and haughtiness of 
manner well calculated to offend both Chatterton and Pigwidgeon, 
he folded himself again in his mantle, and, with an ill-timed dis- 
play of dignity, stalked out ol the gallery. 

The Cicero club was just the hospital to cure the worst case 
of the cacoethes loquendi that ever existed, on the principle 
which Lycurgus adopted when he made the Helots tipsy to 
instil the love of sobriety into the youth of Sparta ; and the 
warning might possibly have been effective, if Mr. Medlicott’s 
vanity had permitted him to weigh himself in the same scale 
with Pigwidgeon even for a moment ; so as to perceive what was 
Really in common between them, namely, the enormous prepon- 
derance of sound over sense in the eloquence of both. As it was, 
however, the gift of speech fell for some time in Reuben’s 
estimation, in consequence of what has been related ; and while 
this fit was on him, nobody inveighed so copiously as he did in 
private society upon the misrule of the tongue, often talking 
against talking until nobody was left to talk to at the table. 

However, there can be no doubt that with respect to Dr. 
Pigwidgeon, Mr. Medlicott had not acted handsomely, or with 
the magnanimity which became his pretensions to superior 
abilities. Had the Doctor been a more complete and accom- 
plished booby than nature and art had combined to make him, 
Reuben ought not to have objected to meet him at supper, 
particularly as he was his townsman, and owed his intellectual 
development, such as it was, to the identical source of his own 
genius. Are we never to eat oysters and broiled kidney 1 -, save 
with men of our own intellectual stature or calibre, measured, 


256 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


too, by the private rule which each of us carries in his pocket ? 
A pleasant societ} 7- it would be to live in, if it were to be torn to 
pieces with intellectual distinctions, as well as with political and 
religious ones; if knowledge and ignorance were to refuse to 
associate, and talent and duiness were not to tolerate one 
another, even over a flask of wine. Dunce, however, as Dr. 
Pigwidgeon was, he was a star in his own sphere, and not one 
of the third magnitude. He told the Professor his simple story 
that night, over the broiled kidneys. From the day that he read 
Reuben’s speech on Coriolanus aloud from the fork of the pear- 
tree in the. garden of Underwood, an ambition to. become an 
■Orator had possessed him ; but for a considerable length of time, 
as Milton said of Cromwell, “ he nursed his great spirit in silence,” 
feeding it principally with the incessant study of Reuben’s ora- 
tions, which he borrowed from Mrs. Medlicott, and, to fasten 
them on his memory, copied out repeatedly, with the same 
ardour for self-improvement which led Demosthenes to pay the 
writings of Thucydides a similar honour. Then, although he had 
no natural defect of utterance, he commenced a course of pebbles 
on a solitary part of the beach; but he did not continue the 
system long, for, as he told Mr. Chatterton, the pebbles hurt his 
teeth, and rather impeded his pronunciation than assisted it. 

“ Perhaps,” said the Professor, “ the pebbles you tried were 
too large for your mouth.” 

“Possibly they were,” said the Doctor; “but at all events, 
they did not answer. I found more benefit from fancying the 
cabbages in our garden an audience, and addressing them as 
loud as I could shout ! ” 

“Trees would have been better,” said the Professor; “I 
always recommend trees, or if trees are not convenient, holly- 
hocks, or artichokes. However, you don’t want that sort of thing 
now.” 

“No,” said Pigwidgeon ; “but let me tell you what I did 
next. I got my sisters, and cousins, and their school-fellows, a 
dozen of them or so, into a room at the top of the house — 
sometimes into a hay-loft, and I placed them all in a row, or in 
two rows ; then 1 mounted a chair opposite to them, and went 
on just as you heard me to-night, only not so fluent, for I was 
only beginning, you know.” 

“ Rome was not built in a day,” said Chatterton. 

“ You may well say that,” said the Doctor ; “but it was a very 
good idea, I think , and I improved it afterwards by teaching 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


257 


them to cry ‘hear,’ and ‘spoke, spoke;’ sometimes they had 
coughs ; and I often gave them full permission to try to put me 
down in every possible way, but they never were able to do it.” 

“ Capital practice for the House,” said the Professor. 

“ I used often to repeat the speech of young Norval,” added 
the Doctor, — “ ‘ My name is Norval on the Grampian hills;’ you 
know.” 

The Professor suggested the propriety ol making a pause at 
the Norval, and told him the story of the actor in Dublin who 
adopted the Doctor’s reading, whereupon a wag in the galleries 
called out, “And what the deuce is your name in Patrick 
Street?” 

The Doctor laughed very long and loud, and after taking a 
note of the improved reading, said, 

“ I’ll tell you a very odd thing, — my grandmother was an 
Irish woman, one of the Beamishes of Cork — if she wasn’t a 
Beamish, she was a Murphy.” 

“You will be coming in for an Irish borough one of these 
days,” said the master of rhetoric. 

The Doctor heaved a profound sigh, pleaded guilty to a 
hankering after senatorial honours, and alluded pathetically to 
the closeness of a rich old hither he had, which had always stood 
in the way of his advancement. But he was not without hopes, 
he added, that the old fellow might be induced to come dowp 
with a few thousands for a borough at the next general election, 
which he understood was not very far off. 

Mr. Medlicott lost this and much more of the like curious dis- 
course, by not accepting the Professor’s invitation to supper. 
What followed would, of course, not have met his ear, — probably 
would not have passed at all. 

The Professor asked Pig widgeon what his private opinion of 
Beuben was, as he had known him so long, and was so intimate 
with him. 

“Well, he is a deuced clever fellow, I won’t deny,” replied the 
Doctor, “though he is not such a prodigy as his family take him 
for ; they think he is the greatest genius that this country ever 
produced ; I am told they talk of him as 4 the coming man,’ 
whatever they mean by that.” 

“Always coming, but never comes,” said the Professc-r, 
hitting off happily enough the contrast between Mr. Medlicott’s 
promise and performance in every stage of his career. 

“ Don’t you think him a coxcomb?” said the Doctor. 


258 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


“ A confounded coxcomb,” said Cbatterton. 

The conversation ended in Bigwidgeon asking the Pi ofessoi 
what he sincerely thought of Mr. Medlicott’s style of eloquence, 

“ m tell you candidly,” said Chatterton ; “ he is nqt fit to 
hold a candle to you, and if ever you are both in the House of 
Commons together, and pitted against one another, which is not 
an unlikely event in these stirring times, you will beat him to 
stock-fish, if you only mind my instructions.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

MU. MEDIZCOTT SYMPATHISES WITH THE POLES, AND IS NATURALLY 
LED FROM ONE SYMPATHY TO ANOTHER. 

In consequence chiefly of the brief revolution in taste mentioned 
in the last chapter, Mr, Medlicott was actually in some little dan- 
ger at this period of being confounded with the common herd 
of working lawyers, to whom Chancery Lane is the world, and 
a bigger wig the summit of human ambition. A few friends 
stuck to him through thick and thin, and the horrors of profes- 
sional success were almost beginning to stare him in the face, 
when he was opportunely seized with another of his paroxysms 
of genius, in the form of a violent sympathy with the cause of 
Poland. 

We have been rather neglectful of Mr. Medlicott’s social ex- 
istence and experiences for some time back, hoping the reader 
, w r ould kindly presume that dinners and balls went on as usual, 
and that a respectable list of good houses in the proper streets 
and squares were ambitious of the honour of receiving the com- 
ing man, if not always successful in securing him as their guest. 
Let it not be supposed that he persisted obstinately in that hos- 
tility to the practice of dining, which had formerly distressed 
some of his best friends, particularly the convivial Mr. De Tab- 
ley. Mr. Medlicott resumed the knife and fork soon after he 
joined the bar, and not only frequented those tables where he 
was duly appreciated, but gave a dinner now and then in his 
own chambers, or invited a select party of agreeable listeners to 
Lovegrove’s, or the Star and Garter. His chambers were fur- 
nished only too handsomely for a man of his means and stand- 

„ 1 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


259 


ing. Mrs. Mountjoy had insisted on transferring ;o them all the 
articles of luxury which she had accumulated for his use in her 
lodgings in Burlington Gardens,- the cosy chairs, the comfortable 
sofas, and even the spacious looking-glass in which Goliath of 
Gath might have surveyed himself from top to toe, had his giant- 
ship lived in the age of mirrors, or had mirrors existed in the 
days of giants. The Barsacs had frowned on him, ever since his 
grandfather did so, but this littleness of theirs Reuben was so far 
from stooping to* resent, that meeting the consequential merchant 
one day in Fleet Street, he carelessly extended him a finger, and 
asked him to dine the following day, to meet Lord Appleby. 
Barsac would have bristled like a porcupine at such an informal 
invitation, prrticularly from such a quarter, if the name of the 
peer had not effectually stifled every unchristian feeling within 
him. To meet Lord Appleby, however, was a most agreeable 
prospect, and having had that privilege, it was incumbent on him 
to return Mr. Medlicott’s dinner, which he did shortly after. Mr. 
Medlicott went to Portland Place, and met a distinguished com- 
pany, among whom was Lord Maudlin, a nobleman, conspicuous 
at that time (as more eminent nobleman have been^since) for his 
zeal in behalf of the Poles, and patron of a society for sympa- 
thising with that suffering nation. Barsac had invited the secre- 
tary of the society on the same day, as a delicate compliment, no 
doubt, to my Lord Maudlin ; and the secretary (a gentleman with 
a black moustache, and a name ending with “ inski”), having had 
the good fortune to be placed beside Mr. Medlicott at dinner, an 
acquaintanceship commenced between them, which grew first 
into intimacy, and afterwards ripened into sympathy before long. 
Mr. Barsac himself sympathised with the Poles, that is to say, he 
invited the secretary to dinner, whenever Lord Maudlin honoured 
him ; but the merchant was not so devoted to Poland as to sac- 
rifice to her cause either his time or much of his money. Mr. 
Medlicott was not long without setting him an example of sym- 
pathising with spirit. He introduced the secretary to many of 
his friends, and among others to Trevor, the bookseller, who en- 
listed him occasionally for his Sunday parties at Hampstead. Mr. 
Medlicott walked into town, one fine evening, with the represen- 
tative of Poland, and discoursed himself into a fever upon her 
history, and her wrongs. The Pole, a man of business and a 
capital secretary, determined to strike while the iron was hot, as 
the saying is ; so, pulling out of his pocket a list of recent sub- 
scriptions, he excited Reuben’s indignation by showing him the 


260 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


names 'of two such wealthy men as Mr. Barsac and Mr. Leaden- 
hall, who were the paltry contributors of no more than a few 
guineas each. Mr. Medlicott, with one of Professor Chatterton’s 
electric starts, seized the paper, and by the light of a lamp at 
the corner of Tottenham Court Road, where it meets the New 
Road, he wrote his name down for fifty pounds ; and before he 
reached Holborn he suffered himself, after some little coy resist- 
ance, to be persuaded to move a resolution at the next public 
meeting, which was very soon to be held. » 

Fifty pounds was a munificent subscription. It deserved a 
conspicuous announcement, and it received it. The newspapers 
complimented Mr. Medlicott upon his well-timed liberality, and 
mentioned him among the noblemen and gentlemen who had 
promised to honour with their presence, and adorn with their 
eloquence, the approaching meeting at the Freemasons’ Tavern. 

A general impression prevailed in the neighbourhood of Chi- 
chester, particular!}' in the parish of Underwood, as soon as these 
announcements arrived there, that Mr. Medlicott was about to 
compel Russia and Austria to disgorge their several shares of the 
plunder of Poland, and that nothing short of the restoration of 
that country to a glorious place among the independent states of 
Europe would be the result of the philippic that was now in 
preparation. Mr. Broad resolved to go up to town to hear it, 
and meanwhile ran about the streets in just such a state of ex- 
citement as you may fancy a cutler of Athens, exhibiting on the 
eve of an oration of Demosthenes, to be followed by instant war 
with Macedon. 

“ He will make the despots of the continent look about them, 
sir ; he will make the tyrants tremble.” 

“ Much the despots of the continent will trouble themselves 
about a speech at the Freemasons’ Tavern, if it was made by 
Brougham himself,” said the Alderman. 

“I’m not of your way of thinking, Alderman Codd said 
the cutler ; “ though making swords is my business, and though 
it will be a bad day for me when swords go out of fashion, I have , 
a higher opinion of eloquence, sir, than of the best sword that 
ever was manufactured. The try ante hate eloquence, sir, as a 
certain personage hates holy -water. Did you ever hear of an 
orator at St. Petersburg, or in the Austrian dominions ? — answer 
me that, Alderman Codd.” 

“ Well, then, I never did, to be candid with you,” said the 
Alderman. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


261 


44 And now, Alderman, let me crave your subscription to the 
cause of Poland, for I want to have something handsome to 
hand in at the meeting to do credit to our city and our distin- 
guished townsman.” 

The Alderman shook his head, laughed, and buttoned up his 
pockets. 

“ Come, Alderman, you won’t have it said, I hope,” said Mr. 
Broad, insinuatingly, “ that you are in the Russian interest ; you 
would not like people to say that?” 

“ I should not like that,” said Alderman Codd, and ended by 
handing the cutler a couple of guineas, which was all he could 
afford the Polish cause without doing his family in justice. 

Matthew Cox, who was always generous when the interests 
of freedom or of humanity were to be promoted, subscribed 
handsomely , Mr. Oldport and Mrs. Winning did so likewise ; so 
that Mr. Broad had a very respectable tribute to bring up with 
him from Chichester, which had never before distinguished itself 
in behalf of Poland. Even Mr. Pigwidgeon put his name down 
for a guinea, but he never paid it — an economical way of sym- 
pathising practised by many as well as Mr. Pigwidgeon. 

Meanwhile, Reuben’s London friends were equally on the 
qui vive. Mr. Trevor and his family were in the highest state of 
excitement : so were the Proctor, the Attorney — in short, every- 
body who either knew Mr. Medlicott, or had heard the whistling 
“of his name. The Polish Secretary gave a breakfast in Golden 
Square on the morning of this second great demonstration. Mr. 
Medlicott was to have been present, but on the previous evening 
he was surprised, and to a certain extent embarrassed and dis- 
concerted, by the arrival of a large party from Chichester, con- 
sisting of his mother and the two Quakeresses, under the escort 
of Mr. Broad. The Vicar was strongly against this expedition, 
and still more displeased at the absurd munificence of his son. 
lie wanted to know what Reuben had to do with the Poles. 
Mrs. Medlicott said he might as well ask what he had to do with 
the Protestants. The Vicar shrugged his shoulders, and wished, 
with considerable bitterness, Reuben would let both Poles and 
Protestants alone, and attend to his profession. 

Mr. Broad conducted his little band of enthusiasts to the old 
Black Lion, in Whitefriars, the inn which he patronised when- 
ever he travelled to town, and where everything, he said, was al- 
ways tidy, and the landlady did her best to make her guests snug 
and comfortable. It may have been so ; but the Black Lion was 


262 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


nevertheless an odd house to bring Mrs. Medlicott to — a quaint 
old curiosity of a place, with one of the last of the wooden gal- 
leries running round the yard, and altogether as queer as Mr. 
Broad himself 

Reuben gently reproached his mother for putting herself to 
the trouble of such a journey for such an object, and under such 
a singular convoy as the cutler. And so old a woman as Han- 
nah Hopkins, too, — to think of her incurring such fatigue, and 
such expense, merely to hear him “ offer a few remarks at a pub- 
lic meeting” — for so Mr. Medlicott always modestly expressed 
himself, when he was about to make some particularly elaborate 
oratorical display. His mother had nothing to say in her own 
defence, except that she would not have missed the opportunity 
for all the world, as Mr. Broad was so good as to offer to take 
care of her. With respect to the Quakeresses, Mr. Cox, as usual, 
was to pay their little expenses. It appeared that their ardour 
for the expedition had been uncontrollable ; the idea of it had 
even cured old Hannah of a fit of the rheumatism. It was more, 
however, as a great philanthropist she idolised Reuben than for 
his eloquence ; Mary Hopkins, on the contrary, though philan- 
thropic also, was more anxious about the oratory than about the 
cause. It was to gratify her, chiefly, that Mr. Cox had offered to 
take upon himself the cost of the journey. 

“ That poor girl’s passion for eloquence, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Medlicott, “is something very extraordinary.” 

She little dreamed that the fair Mary’s breast was, and had 
for some time been, the seat of another passion, also; one that 
had possessed her ever since the meeting at Chichester, and might 
have been traced back to the tou 1 * in Wales ; nay, probably to the 
still earlier days when she and Reuben were schoolfellows and 
playmates. But nobody could have helped remarking that a great 
change had taken place in Mary Hopkins. She was neither so 
fat as she had been formerly, nor so merry either. The girlish 
laughter for which she had been noted wherever she went, had 
subsided into a quieter expression of delight. But if she was 
neither so gay nor so plump, she atoned for it by being decidedly 
handsomer ; a more delicate intellectual charm had taken the 
place of her former mere rustic attractions ; she seemed also to 
have gained something in stature by the decreased roundness of 
her person. In short, when she came from her room to re- 
ceive Reuben, she scarcely appeared to be his old friend Mary 
Hopkins at all ; he was greatly struck by the improved style of 


CR, THE COMING MAN. 


263 


her beauty, but still more by the grave, thoughtful, reserved 
manner, with even something of melancholy in it, which had 
usurped the place of her termer exuberant spirits. Reuben as- 
scribed the change altogether to the development of her excel- 
lent faculties, the general cultivation of her mind, and especially 
to her passion for eloquence. He thought, upon the whole, that 
she u T as altered in every respect to her advantage, except, per- 
haps, in the point of reserve ; her manner towards him was not 
wanting in affection and even tenderness, but it was not alto- 
gether as sisterly as formerly — that he could not help perceiving 
and feeling. 

Reuben entertained them all at breakfast the following day, 
and knowing what a tenderness the Quakeresses had for llowers, 
he took care to be provided with several of the finest bouquets 
Covent Garden could produce, which would delight them the 
more as they little dreamed of seeing such things in the heart of 
London. That morniug, as he made liis toilette with unusual care 
(not forgetting a single one of Madame Chatterton’s precepts), a 
withered bunch of what had once been flowers tumbled out of 
one of his drawers. It was the faded relic of the bouquet which 
he had worn at the Chichester meeting, and which Mary’s tremu- 
lous fingers had fixed in his coat, lie wondered what chance had 
preserved it, but felt glad, be scarcely knew why, that it had 
escaped destruction, to form a sort of poetical link between his 
first and his second display in public. 

As things repeat themselves in this world, there would have 
been nothing very surprising in the fair quakeress again offering 
to perform the same graceful little ceremony upon the present 
occasion ; but Mr. Medlicott would have gone without a rose in 
his breast, or been reduced to stick one there himself, if it had 
not been for Mr. Broad, who, with twenty diverting bows and 
scrapes, declined the bouquet that was offered him, adding, that 
it would look infinitely better in Mr. Reuben’s own button-hole, 
particularly if a fair young maiden could be found to place it 
there. Thus appealed to, Mary Hopkins could not but take the 
flowers, and decorate the orator with them, though in doing so 
her cheek grew damask as the roses themselves, and she pricked 
her finger with a pin which she employed to fix them. But no- 
body noticed such minute things, while the thunder was prepar- 
ing to burst on the head of the Czar. 

Having given an account of one public demonstration, the 
details of another would be as wearisome as was the actual thing 


264 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

itself to the must judicious of the persons present. Substitute 
town for country, and numbers of meagre and moustached for- 
eigners, with their vociferous sympathisers, for the black-coats, 
top-boots, and smock-frocks, which composed the meeting in the 
country — put Poland for Protestantism, partition for Popery, and 
fraternity and sympathy for loyalty and orthodoxy — and the 
scene in the country town was only acted over again on the Lon- 
don boards. Mr. Medlicott was again the great gun of the day, 
but a much greater gun than at the Protestant meeting, chiefly 
in consequence of his donation, which led many people to fancy 
that he was a gentleman of ample fortune, as well as splendid 
abilities, a notion that did not abate the respect of the assembly 
for him a jot, or the raptures with which he was received. 

Mr. Broad made himself almost as conspicuous as if he had 
been on the platform. He potently believed that the fortunes of 
Poland, nay, of Russia itself, were involved in the issue of the 
meeting, and, of course, that his “ illustrious townsman,” as he 
called him, was arbitrating that day the fate of empires. Mrs. 
Medlicott dierself was several times obliged to restrain his enthu- 
siasm, or it would have actually disturbed the proceedings. 

“Let the Czar answer that, if he can !” he cried, at the end of 
one passage, in which Reuben had put the European despots in 
a logical difficulty. Mrs. Medlicott laid her hand on his arm to 
keep him quiet. Then there was a superb flight, in which the 
orator stated a long list of grievances and oppressions, concluding 
by demanding “ whether all this was to be borne?” Mr. Broad 
jumped up on the form, waved his hat, and shouted aloud that 
he, for one, was determined not to bear it. The Chairman mildly 
but firmly requested silence. Mr. Broad sat down, but he was 
not long seated before he was on his legs again, cheering uproar- 
iously a sublime image of unhappy Poland, figured by a giant 
prostrate and chained, with the Russian and Austrian eagles 
preying on his vitals. However, that sublime image set every- 
body else mad also, so that Mr. Broad was net very remarkable ; 
but he soon misbehaved himself again, for Mr. Medlicott, after 
criticising with some severity the course taken by the friends of 
Poland in Parliament, went on to inform his audience what course 
he would take himself, “ if he were in the House of Commons,” 
— “And you ought to be there, and we’ll send you there!” 
screamed the little cutler, suddenly springing on his seat again, 
and drawing the eyes of the whole assemblage upon him. 

“ I must entreat that zealous gentleman ‘ to resume his seat 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


265 


and preserve silence,” said the Chairman, again obliged to inter- 
fere, which he did with a smile, provoked by the oddity of Mr. 
Broad’s appearance, which was doubly comical when he was in 
a state of excitement. 

“Now do, Mr. Broad,” added Mrs. Medlicott, imploringly, 
“ and we shall hear Reuben the better.” 

That last argument prevailed, and Mr. Broad conducted him- 
self pretty well until the conclusion of the speech (which was, 
of course, the shriek of Freedom at the fall of Kosciusko), when, 
there being no longer any rule of propriety to restrain him, he 
went through such an amount of physical exertion, cheering, 
waving his hat, beating and thumping the seats, the floor, and 
everything within his reach, that he had scarcely strength left to 
hand in his subscriptions, and pronounce the names of the little 
band of sympathisers of whom he was the representative and 
envoy. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Broad, when the meeting was over, and Reu- 
ben had been embraced and congratulated by all his relations 
and friends, until he was almost drunk with applause, — “ Mr. 
Medlicott has entertained us at the Freemasons’ Tavern, and en- 
tertained us royally ; the least we can do, I think, is to entertain 
him in our own humble way at the Black Lion, where I have 
ordered an early supper ; and the more of his friends he brings 
with him, the more we shall feel honoured and obliged.” 

The orator not only accepted the invitation for himself, but 
for Mr. Trevor, the Secretary of the Polish Association, and his 
professional friends, the Attorney and Proctor, who wrangled the 
whole of the way to the Black Lion on the question, whether Mr. 
Medlicott’s eloquence was more suitable to the King’s Bench or 
to Doctor’s Commons. The Proctor said it stood to reason that 
the speaker who could give the Czar such a tremendous dressing, 
and draw so affecting a picture of an oppressed country, was just 
the man to show up a tyrannical husband in the proper colours, 
and contrast his odious conduct with that of his beautiful and 
ill-used wife. The Attorney argued that there were abundant 
opportunities in the Courts of Law for abusing husbands and ex- 
tolling wives., or vice versa ; but what he most relied on was, that 
such eloquence as they had just heard was much too good to be 
thrown away upon any mere judge — it deserved both judge and 
jury ; and as it was one of the gross defects of the Ecclesiastical 
Courts to want juries, he thought the reason was hollow upo& 
his side of the question. This dispute might have Basted longer, 
12 


. 266 


THE inivERSAL GENIUS; 


if Mr. Trevor had not raised another, by venturing an opinion 
that Mr. Medlicott was too universal a genius to prosecute any 
branch of his profession very steadily. 

“ I doubt, very much,” said Trevor, “ if that style of speaking 
is the thing for the bar at all. It might do very well ” 

“ In the House,” interrupted the Proctor. 

“ In the pulpit,” said' the Attorney. 

u What do you know about the pulpit ?” said the Proctor. 

“ As much as you do about the House,” said the Attorney. 

The question was not settled until thpy reached the Black 
Lion, when Mr. Broad’s hearty entertainment brought it to an 
abrupt and agreeable termination. The old inn had not beemso 
jovial for many a day. Everybody was in the humour of ap- 
plauding and sympathising with everything : the supper was the 
best that was spread on a table; the Poles the greatest nation 
that ever existed in the world ; the speech transcending every 
effort in ancient or modern times. Mr. Medlicott was literally 
smothered with praises and flatteries, for an injudicious display 
that virtually ended his career at the bar, and threw him again 
adrift upon the world. 

There was no louder panegyrist of his eloquence than Mr. 
Reynard, the Attorney ; but he sent the orator no brief the next 
day ; and one or two other solicitors, who had already given him 
business, ceased to do so, after his demonstration in behalf of the 
Poles. 


CHAPTER V. 


nOW MR. MEDLICOTT FELL AMONG THE QTTAKER3. 

Ordinary men are wont to many, when they have succeeded in 
their professions ; hut Mr. Medlicott, being an extraordinary man, 
married just at the moment when his failure began to he a sub- 
ject of general remark. We must observe, however, that his 
failure at the bar was sc far from shaking either the faith of his 
sanguine friends, or his own confidence in his powers, that it con- 
firmed both one and the other, Avonderfully ; some imputed the 
result to the gross stupidity of the public ; others were of opinion 
*hat the defeats of genius in interior employments were to be re- 
garded in the light of triumphs ; they said, iu short (and. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


267 


Medlicott himself, probably, supplied them with the image), that 
he failed with the distaff, only because his hands were made to 
wield the club. 

Still, it was an odd time to choose for marrying ; but as he 
had already put the cart before the horsv, in cultivating oratory 
in preference to law, he was only repeating the same brilliant 
mistake in taking a wife first, and making a fortune afterwards. 

It all earne of sympathy. We have seen that the pretty 
Quakeress had long been sympathising in- secret with Reuben ; 
and the time was now arrived for Reuben to sympathise with 
her, which he very soon did as strongly and as publicly as he 
had lately sympathised with the Poles. 

But let us not travel too fast. Mrs. Medlicott, after taking 
advantage of her presence in London to visit all the literary and 
scientific institutions, and attend as many lectures as she could 
thrust into a week, returned to Chichester with the cutler, who 
proved charming company ; for he talked of nothing, the whole 
journey, but the parliamentary glories that were in store for her 
son. The Quakeresses remained behind in town, partly because 
the yearly meeting was at hand, and partly because the fatigue 
of travelling, with the excitement of Reuben’s exploits, followed 
by Mr. Broad’s gaieties at the Black Lion, had proved too much 
for Old Hannah Hopkins ; and an interval of repose was neces- 
sary to enable her to take the road again. They remained for a 
few days at the Black Lion, but the old woman continuing weak, 
Reuben took lodgings for them in Grace-church Street, that they 
might be near their friend and relation, Mr. Harvey, the book- 
seller. But although the Harveys were the kindest people, and 
omitted no attention that their aged relative required, Mr. Medli- 
cott was so far from neglecting his own duty to his friends, that 
he spent almost every evening in Gracechurch Street, and took 
care that his old schoolmistress should want nothing that money 
could procure for her. There was, indeed, a charitable rivalry 
between him and friend Harvey, who should do most to make 
Hannah’s last days as comfortable as possible ; for the doctors 
who saw her were of opinion that it was most unlikely she would 
ever return to Chichester. This announcement touched Reuben 
exceedingly, when he thought of the occasion which had brought 
the good woman up to London ; and he was the more constant 
in his attendance, because he could not but perceive that Mary 
was much more pleased to receive his attentions than those of 
her relation, who was a prodigiously fussy man, and somewhat 
ostentatious of his friendly services. 


268 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS : 


Had Mr. Medlicott’s judgment been as solid as his heart was 
sound, he would have made few mistakes in his career. He had 
numerous acquaintances in London, and was never more in re- 
quest among them than since his display at the Freemasons’ 
Tavern. Even those who censured him for wandering from his 
proper course, admired the brilliancy of his aberrations, and ca- 
ressed him for his graceful accomplishments, while they lamented 
his deficiency in the sterner stuff of which ambition ought to be 
made. Master Turner made a party expressly for him ; so did 
the nobleman who filled the chair at the Polish demonstration; 
but Mr. Medlicott excused himself to both, though no man valued 
such flattering attentions more than he did ; nor was this all, he 
also did what was very unnecessary and highly imprudent ; he 
declined business, and even returned fees, preferring to take his 
way every evening, and at other times of the day not unfrequent- 
ly, into the far city, to share the fatigues and anxieties of those 
obscure lodgings where Hannah Hopkins seemed destined to close 
her days. Those numerous visits brought him closer to Mary 
than he had ever been in the greatest familiarity of childhood. 
He would have been welcome to her for his friendship merely, 
but the pride she took in his attentions made them doubly ac- 
ceptable. Reuben, upon his part, would have been attracted to 
her side by her distress, without any stronger magnet ; but every- 
thing now contributed to draw him towards her, her affliction, 
her beauty, and that most potent of all fascinations, the feeling 
that he was valued for those qualities which he most valued in 
himself. 

There was a lapse of several weeks, with the usual fluctua- 
tions between hope and despondency. Notwithstanding the 
closeness of Mary’s attendance on her mother, Reuben had many 
opportunities of various discourse with the fair Quakeress ; he 
discoursed—of what did he not discourse ? — of poetry and elo- 
quence, of poets and orators, on a thousand interesting questions 
of art and literature ; sometimes even entering into abstruser sub- 
jects ; and always, when Friend Harvey was present, discussing 
some one or- other of the hundred enlightened or humane pro- 
jects in which he was interested or engaged, for in Harvey’s com- 
pany it was impossible to talk for many minutes upon anything 
but enlightenment and philanthropy. 

In the natural course of things, the guardianship of poor Mary 
Hopkins, after her mother’s decease, ought to have devolved upon 
this Mr. Harvey, who was her nearest relati T e, and of her own 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 269 

religions persuasion ; but whether it was that the old woman’s 
understanding was slightly impaired by her bodily suffering, or 
that her long knowledge and enthusiastic admiration of Mr. Med- 
licott (lately excited to the highest pitch), led her to place greater 
confidence in him than in any other human being, and imagine 
that he alone possessed the requisite amount of benevolence for 
the discharge of such a trust, she took the extraordinary step, 
when she imagined her last moments were at hand, of calling him 
to her bed-side, and, with the utmost solemnity, confiding her 
disconsolate daughter to his special protection, enjoining her to be 
guided in all her actions by his advice and to seek his assistance 
and support in all her trials and tribulations. Mr. Medlicott was 
so much affected by the scene, that he was not as much surprised 
as he would otherwise have been by a proceeding so extraordi- 
nary, and indeed unwarrantable. When the old lady even went 
the length of placing the weeping Mary’s hand in his, to impress 
the solemn nature of the trust more emphatically upon him, Reu- 
ben melted into tears also, and in the tender passion of the 
moment, not only kissed the hand confided to him, but commit- 
ted himself by language more impassioned than was discreet or 
necessary. 

Notwithstanding all this melancholy preparation, the hour of 
Hannah Hopkins was not yet come. There was a time for all 
things under the sun, but the time for Hannah’s sun to set was 
much more distant than either her friends or her physicians sup- 
posed. It is useless to speculate how Mr. Medlicott would have 
acted if Mrs. Hopkins had ended her days then, when everybody 
thought she had made up her mind to do so ; but whatever 
chance of escape he might have had in that event was utterly 
destroyed by her recovery, which, being a tedious process, led to 
such a combination of tender little occurrences, and wove such a 
web of sentiment and sympathy about him, that had he been a 
stronger fly than he was, it would have been scarcely possible for 
him to have disentangled himself, or burst through it. 

Friend Harvey was not, perhaps, an intentional match-maker; 
but if he did not actually lay himself out for it, he was probably 
only the more successful for that very reason. Having a small 
family and a large house, he began by inducing the Hopkinses to 
remove to it, as soon as old Hannah was equal to the effort ; and 
not long afterwards, the accident of a fire in the building having 
made it necessary for Mr. Medlicott to leave his chambers in the 
Temple on the shortest possible notice, Mr. Harvey offered to 


270 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


accommodate him too with a temporary asy'um, and was so warm 
and pressing, that Reuben at length accepted his proposition, and 
thus came into closer contact and more perilous proximity than 
ever with the sweet enthusiastic Mary. 

Friend Harvey, as we have intimated, was the most indefat- 
igably busy, and the most fervently zealous creature in the wide 
world. At the same time no man was shrewder in his trade, had 
a sharper eye to the main chance, or better knew how to make a 
friend of the Mammon of Unrighteousness. He was either an 
acting or a corresponding member of every society, institution, 
and committee in England, for suppressing slavery, abolishing 
capital punishments, putting down human chimney-sweeping, and 
war, and pestilence, and gin-palaces, and gin itself, everything in 
short that was not perfectly blameless, and after the strictest and 
purest pattern of Quakerly morality. But as he aspired to be 
pre-eminently a philanthropic and Quaker bookseller, this exten- 
sive concern in humane projects and undertakings was so far from 
injuring him in his trade, that it served him extremely, making 
his shop the principal one in London for the publication and sale 
of benevolent works and fanatical tracts, essays, treatises, and dis- 
courses, of all descriptions, sizes, and pretensions. In domestic 
life he was the same active, lively, and excitable personage that 
he was in his projects and his trade. When Harvey once said 
that his friend must dine with him, spend a month with him, or 
do anything else he wanted him to do, there was no help for it ; 
the thing must be done, even when it was not as agreeable to the 
friend as it was to Harvey himself. You must either give him 
his way or offend him, and who would willingly offend a man 
who never offended anybody except by being too friendly and 
hospitable. It was thus that he almost forced Reuben to take a 
room in his house in Gracechurch-street, or rather a suite of 
rooms, for he was only too proud and happy to give him the best 
of everything he had to give. Mr. Broad himself did not enter- 
tain a more exaggerated notion of Mr. Medlicott’s capabilities than 
did Mr. Harvey, before he had been a fortnight acquainted with 
him. Not only did Reuben completely impose upon the Quaker 
by his copious flood of elocution, which Harvey considered the 
very overflowing of the fountains of wisdom, but Reuben had 
been gradually growing warm upon some of the subjects which 
kept the mind of the bookseller in a perpetual fever, particularly 
on the questions of capital punishments and peace, over the la'tter 
of which Mr. Medlicott had been already brooding to an extent 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


271 


that was truly formidable. On the subject of capital pu lish- 
ments he had once made a speech when lie was at college ; his 
mother had given it, with others, to the Quakeresses to read ; and 
the subject being broached one day at Harvey’s table, Reuben’s 
speech was not only remembered, but Mary Hopkins, to his great 
surprise, and perhaps his equal gratification, produced a copy of 
it, in her own neat hand, which it is not too much to say that the 
philanthropic bookseller actually devoured. 

“ Thee must permit me to print it,” said Friend Harvey. 

Reuben smiled as if the notion was ridiculous, but before a 
week expired, the speeeh was published, and might have been 
seen in Harvey’s shop-windows, and announced in huge letters on 
one of the many boards whieh hung at the door. What is more, 
this puerile rhapsody had a wonderful run among the Abolition- 
ists, and Harvey did not relish its eloquence the less because his 
pocket was benefited by it in common with the cause, for it may 
be’ supposed that Mr. Me v dlieott declined receiving any share of 
the profits. After this substantial proof of our hero’s value, it 
was curious to observe how he rose in the Quaker’s estimation, 
high as he had stood there before. Friend Harvey would stand 
gazing on Mr. Medlicott with an eager expression in his eye, and 
an appetizing movement and watering of his lips, just as if Reu- 
ben had been a turtle and his talents all green- fat ; so much did 
he hope to make of him, partly, no doubt, in the way of his busi- 
ness, but in a great measure, also, it is only just to say, as an 
instrument for advancing his multifarious schemes for the benefit 
of the human species. Harvey’s two sons, likewise, who were in 
his shop, would ako stand gaping at the same intellectual pro- 
digy, as f they were equally disposed to eat him ; or as il he had 
actually been the author of the Book of the Proverbs. Jonas and 
Samuel were twins, lank-haired, smooth-faced, brown-coated 
youths, who had been brought up to think it ill-manners to speak 
except when the were spoken to ; it was not easy to distinguish 
them, they were so like one another, but Jonas was kind enough 
to keep his mouth generally wide open, which helped people to 
discriminate between them. 

But an incident in which his grandfather had a share, tended 
more than anything else to tighten the bonds between Mr. Medli- 
cott and the Society of Friends, an alliance which was destined to 
exercise such a powerful influence on his future life and fortune?. 

We have lost sight of the Bisl op for some time ; indeed a h ti- 
tle too long, for the fact that Mrs. Wyndham had astonished the 


272 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


world by presenting tin venerable prelate with a son, was im- 
portant enough to have deserved an earlier notice. It engrossed 
his lordship’s thoughts, and swelled his pride and importance 
more than if he held been appointed to an additional see. At 
home, or abroad, this marvellous infant was seldom out of the 
paternal sight for a moment, his extravagant anxieties making 
poor Blanche almost appear in the light of a step-mother to her 
baby. It was to be seen puling opposite to the Bishop in his 
coach as he drove to the House of Lords. It had already accom- 
panied him to a visitation ; and frequently, when clergymen 
waited on him in his library to transact ecclesiastical business, 
their ears were saluted with little squeakings out of a corner, pro- 
ceeding from the cot or the cradle where little Tom Wyndham 
was deposited. 

We are more concerned, however, at present with another 
child of his Lordship’s old age, which made its appearance at the 
same time, and made some noise in the world also. This was 
his long-threatened onslaught upon the doctrines and principles 
of the Quakers, a tract which was composed with all the force 
and virulence which had formerly distinguished his writings 
against the Roman Catholics. It had already gone through three 
editions, without attracting much notice in Gracechurch Street ; 
but the announcement of a fourth, with a considerable flourish of 
trumpets by the Bishop’s publisher, was more than Harvey could 
stand; and accordingly he came bustling in, one morning, to 
breakfast, with the tract in his hand, declaring that it must be 
answered immediately. 

Reuben took it up, and read it aloud, with a running com- 
mentary as he proceeded, taking part very decidedly against his 
grandfather, sometimes reprobating the violence of his language, 
sometimes the unfairness ot his statements, and often even the 
correctness of his facts, absolutely astonishing the Quakers by ap- 
pearing to know twice as much as they did themselves about 
William Penn and their other celebrities. Many a remark which 
he made was all Greek to the Hopkinses and Harveys, but this 
only impressed them the more with his amazing wisdom and 
erudition. 

- u That’s a flat petitio principii — there again, more begging of 
the question — not the fact — against all the authorities on the 
subject — adroitly put, but admitting of the simplest possible re- 
ply — very true, my Lord Bishop and most respectable grandsire, 
but quite irrelevant, — an< ther sophism : what we used to call at 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


273 


college ignoratio elenehi — another — see what it is when a writer 
suffers his passion to run away with his reason — words, words, 
words, nothing but words for several pages. — I am sorry to find 
such mere babble in the production of a man who was once such 
a profound thinker, but do you know, Mr. Harvey, I am afraid 
there are signs of the garrulity of age in this pamphlet of my 
grandfather’s ? It admits of the easiest and the most triumphant 
answer.” 

“ And thou wilt do us that service thyself,” said Friend Harvey. 

Reuben smiled, shook his head, and gently ridiculed the no- 
tion of a lawyer entering the lists of controversial divinity with a 
bishop, not to speak of the oddity of a member of the Established 
Church taking up the cudgels for a body of Dissenters. 

“ Thou knowest we may not take up the cudgels for ourselves, 
friend Reuben,” said Harvey, with an oily smile. 

“ You may wield the pen,” said Mr. Medlicott; “ and all the 
more freely, as it is the only weapon you have to defend your- 
selves.” < 

“ But we have not thy learning, or thy beautiful diction, or 
thy knowledge of our antagonist,” urged Harvey. 

“ Thou wouldest not be long about it,” said his wife, a quiet, 
dove-coloured Quakeress, whose voice was seldom heard in the 
house or anywhere else, and who seldom entered ostensibly into 
any of her husband’s projects, either sentimental or mercantile. 

Hannah Hopkins took her breakfast in her room, but Mary 
was present, catching every word that fell from Mr. Medlicott’s 
lips, as if it had been a jewel of Golconda, and tenderly interested 
in Friend H arvey’s object, though only her animated looks and 
attitude of eager attention showed it. 

Reuben now commenced his breakfast, but soon discontinued 
it ; and throwing himself back in his chair, began to apologise 
for the Society of Friends, and demolish his grandfather’s posi- 
tions in his amplest and most variegated style of extempore de- 
clamation. Harvey, though a great eater, suspended his knife 
and fork, though his lips still moved as we have before described, 
and the tip of his tongue might be seen going in and out with a 
liquorish volubility, no otherwise than if Reuben’s sentences had 
tickled his palate as well as enchanted his ear. His sons Jonas 
and Samuel (whose time for breakfast was limited), made a shift to 
swallow the bread and butter, and the galimatias at the same 
time ; while frien l Wilson, a tall, prim, drab, and ultra-broad- 
brimmed Quaker from the opposite side of the street, who drop- 
12 * 


274 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


ped in while the torrent was flowing, sat near the door with his 
hands clasped over his breast, as he was wont to do upon First 
day at the Meeting. 

After thus improvising a pamphlet, it was idle to decide wri- 
ting one ; but, Mr. Medlicott continuing coy, friend Harvey, who 
was not to be foiled when he set his heart upon an object, appeal- 
ed to Mary Hopkins for her support, alluding in no very delicate 
manner to the influence he suspected she possessed over Reuben. 

The allusion set her cheek on fire, and would have utterly 
defeated Mr. Harvey’s purpose, if it had been necessary for Mary . 
to have made a speech upon the occasion in presence of the as- 
sembled company ; but it happened opportunely that Harvey was 
called away just at the instant ; whereupon everybody rose, and 
in a few moments, before Mary’s cheek had ceased to glow, she 
and Mr. Medlicott were the only occupiers of the apartment. 

It was the beginning of summer, and one of those days of 
rare occurrence when the sky was actually blue and the sun shone 
visibly over Gracechurch Street. Reuben and Mary had never 
yet walked together in London without other company. Mary 
had never visited the British Museum. Reuben proposed to take 
her to see it. She hesitated, blushed again, smiled, and said she 
would much like to go, but would first mention it to her mother 
and obtain her consent, That proved no difficult point. Mary 
returned, wearing her bonnet of silver-grey, her First-day robe of 
the same hue, and her shawl as white as the driven snow. They 
set out on their expedition, and many an eye that day in the 
London streets, and many an eye in the great national institution 
over which they ranged together, was attracted by the pretty 
Quakeress, under convoy of the handsome young man, clothhd in 
the fashions of this wicked world. That day was pregnant with 
a great deal, but its first and immediate result was Reuben’s con- 
sent to defend the fair Mary’s religious opinions, and the charac- 
ter of her sect, against his grandfather’s libellous strictures. 

Harvey’s glee was indescribable when he found at dinner that 
his point was carried ; he jumped about, rubbed his hands as if 
he was washing them, and talked of nothing for half-an-hour but 
pica and long primer. 

“Thy response shall be published on fifth day next,” he said 
to Reuben, “ and thou wilt put thy name on the title-page, or 
not, as thee pleases. If thou wilt take my advice, thou wilt a\ow 
thyself the author, and make thy name known to the world.” 

Th e vanity of Mr. Medlicott would have led him to acquiesce 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


275 


in this suggestion, rash as it was, hut the strong sense of Mary 
Hopkins saved him from so false a step ; she perceived how im- 
prudent it would be to make his grandfather still more his enemy 
than he was already, and by a quiet little hint to that effect in 
the course of the evening, determined him to pull down his vizor, 
and enter the lists of controversy anonymously. 

Fifth day came and the pamphlet with it, shining, smooth, 
and hot-pressed. Its appearance made old Hannah young again ; 
Mary read it aloud to her mother twice, but how often she perused 
it in secret was known to herself alone. 

Reuben had no mean opinion of this work of his, but Harvey 
could find no language to praise it sufficiently. He crammed 
his windows with it, placarded it in letters a foot long, sent copies 
to all the Meetings in the three kingdoms, and presented a copy 
to every customer that entered his shop. He might well boast, 
as he did, every day at breakfast and dinner, of its wonderful cir- 
culation, though probably the copies actually sold did not amount 
to a dozen. The following little dialogue took place in the shop 
every ten minutes : — 

“ Hast thou seen this ? It is worth thy reading !” pointing to 
the pamphlet, then rubbing his hands. 

“Excellent, no doubt, but it is not in my way,” the customer 
would reply. 

“ Permit me to present thee with a copy.” 

On the third day of the publication, however, a customer 
came who actually bought the work. A large family coach, 
with mitres on the panels, and servants in dark purple liveries, 
drove up the street and stopped at Harvey’s. A tall, robust old 
gentleman, wearing a shovel-hat and an apron, handed a great 
chubby infant to a comely woman who sat opposite to him, and 
alighting with very little assistance from the footman, pushed his 
way into the shop. 

“ You have published an attack upon me, I want to see it.” 

“What is thy name, friend ?” 

“The Bishop of Shrewsbury — Doctor Wyndham,” was the 
reply, given very drily and impatiently. 

“This is the work thou alludest to, friend Wyndham ; but 
thou must permit me to observe, that the book is not an attack 
upon thee, b it a reply to thy attack upon us.” 

“Who is the writer?” 

“ Thou mayest not be informed, friend.” 

“ I put my name to my tract.” 


276 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS', 


“ Thou wert free to publish thy observations with thy name, 
or without thy name, at thy pleasure, friend.” 

“ You took a long time to answer my observations.” 

“ Peradventure, friend Wyndham, thou wilt . take a longer 
time to answer ours.” 

The Bishop put down his shilling, disdaining to bandy more 
words with the bookseller, and, returning to the coach, drove off 
with the nurse and Tom, the latter trying to possess himself of 
Reuben’s pamphlet for a plaything, and tearing off the title-page 
in the attempt. 

The bookseller flew up to his wife and his guests, to tell them 
who had been in his shop, and what he had said to my Lord 
Bishop, which evidently pleased himself vastly. But Reuben and 
Mary had witnessed all that passed through a glass door which 
separated the shop from Mr. Harvey’s private office, and the scene 
recalled to their memories the evening at Underwood, mentioned 
early in this history, when Hr. Wyndham had first menaced the 
Quakers with his wrath, and when Mary and her mother, scared 
by his termagant demeanor, had fled from the Vicarage, leaving 
their tea and their flowers behind them. 

“ How you laughed, Mary,” said Reuben, “ when he fished 
his hat out of the well, and shook it, and sprinkled us all round 
with the water.” 

‘‘I was only a foolish, giddy girl at that time, Reuben.” 

“ You certainly laughed a great dhal more then than you ever - 
do now,” said Mr. Medlicott, looking tenderly at her. 

She blushed and tried to repair the fault which he noticed, 

} ut the effort to laugh ended in a sigh. 

Reuben took her hand, and in the softest of all possible tones, 
attuning his voice to the utmost sweetness, whispered the first 
words which directly intimated to Mary the existence of a feeling 
in his breast answering to that which had long agitated hers. 
The words were few, and their hands were scarcely joined before 
they were parted, for Jonas and Samuel were inconveniently near, 
only separated by the glass door. Harvey, too, was hurrying 
down stairs again, looking everywhere for his beloved pam- 
phleteer, whom he met coming out from his office, followed by 
the fair Mary, who (if we may divine what was passing under 
her white muslin kerchief) was never so truly a Quakeress at 
heart as at that moment. 

Mary had heard Reuben’s oratory in the Court-House of 
Chichester, his eloquence in London at the Polish demonstration, 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


277 


and his conversational rhetoric a thousand times,; but those few 
brief words were to her the most magical and thrilling that ever 
fell from his lips. For once he had made a laconic speech, and 
probably it was as effective a speech as he ever delivered. It 
was not, however, the last of the kind ; in a few days he made 
her another, more studied, more formal, — in fact sufficiently de- 
claratory not only of his sentiments, but his intentions. 

The chief difficulty he experienced was from the maiden her- 
self, whose feelings towards him had long been those of Helena 
for the unworthy Bertram ; she felt that 

“ In his bright radiance and collateral light 
Must she be comforted, not in his sphere.” 

she naturally feared that he mistook generosity for love ; and it 
was not until after a siege of some duration, during which he 
gave every proof of the most ardent attachment, that she at length 
yielded to his solemn declaration that her consent was necessary 
to his happiness. 

As to the difficulties on the part of his parents, who concurred 
in thinking him nothing short of a madman, it is hard to explain 
how he overcame them, except by obstinately following his own 
inclinations. 

His mother especially was mortified and enraged, at what she 
considered a mesalliance for a man of Reuben’s promise, and the 
result of an abominable conspiracy among the Hopkinses and 
Harveys; nor was her resentment in the least diminished, when 
Mr. Cox settled an annuity of two hundred a year and a pretty 
cottage on poor Mary, which made the prospects of the marriage 
less dismal than at first they seemed. 

But Mrs. Mediicott’s indignation was not very unreasonable 
after all, considering the hopes she had cherished. She had 
dreamed of brilliant nuptials for her son, alliances with ministers 
sustained in office by his eloquence, with chancellors happy to 
connect themselves with the rising talent of the bar, or with 
millionaires only too well off to exchange a daughter with a 
hundred thousand pounds for a handsome young orator and a 
volume of speeches. All these bubbles of love and vanity were 
burst, when Reuben flung down his gage to fortune, and became 
the daring husband of the fair and fortuneless Mary Hopkins. 
In truth, however, Mary renounced more for him than he did for 
her, for she left not only her mother but the Meeting, when she 
became his wife ; whereas Reuben, far from giving up the world, 


278 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 

was not Wo years married before lie began to play a more 
prominent part in it. 

During those two years he became the father of two children, 
and living entirely in London, increased his reputation and popu- 
larity among the Quakers enormously ; to such a degree, Indeed, 
that his fame crossed the Atlantic to New York, and a deputa- 
tion of American friends actually came to England, to invite him 
to visit and ^enlighten the new world. He was busily engaged 
in preparing a course of lectures, upon the elastic subject of 
popular education, when his plans were altered by domestic 
events, which led him to neglect the Americans for some years, 
and devcte himself to his own countrymen. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


BOOK THE EIGHTH. 


•If Alma, whilst the man was youngs 
Slipp’d up so soon into his tongue. 

Pleased with his own fantastic skill. 

He lets that weapon ne’er lie still. 

But one may speak with Tully’s tongue, 

Yet all the while be in the wrong; 

And ’tis remarkable that they 

Talk most who have the least to say.” — Prior, 


ARGUMENT. 

•Now entertain conjecture of a time 
When general clamour and election fuss 
Fills the wide circle of the commonwealth. 

From camp to camp, through borough, town, and shire, 
The cry of either party shrilly sounds ; 

Tongue answers tongue, and through their flaming print* 
Each faction sees the other’s brazen face. 

Whig threatens Tory, in defiant strains 
Dinning the public ear ; and on each side 
The Coppocks and committees, for the knights, 

In flys and wagons bringing voters up, 

Give dreadful note of preparation. 

Now thrive th’ attorneys ; and election tricks 
Reign solely in the thoughts of ever man. 

They sell the manor now to buy the seat. 

The candidates do treat, th’ electors drink 
Till the third hour of drowsy morning comes. 

And now sits expectation in the air, 

And holds a bag, stuff’d to the very mouth 

With sovereigns, guineas, and with five-pound note^ 

Promised to voters and their families. 

A largess universal, like the sun. 

The millionaire doth give to every one 
Securing his return. Oh, do but think 
You stand upon the hustings, and behold 
An orator to th’ inconstant rabble bawling. 

So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 


280 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS 


You may imagine him at "Westminster, 

With fatal mouth gaping on crowded benches 
Till all do fly before him. Still be kind, 

And eke out our performance with your mind” 


CHAPTER I. 

THE TOBACCONIST OF CHICHESTER. 

/ 

Ii was the close of a splendid day, about midsummer ; and the 
fatigued shopkeepers of the city of Chichester, like people of 
their class in a thousand other places, were beginning to think 
of shutting their long opened windows, and betaking themselves 
to refreshment or repose. A street of business, like a rookery, 
is most noisy at the hour in question, for though the shops that 
vend muslins and calicos, or such commodities as sugar and figs, 
usually close quietly enough, the goods being removable from 
the doors and windows without a clatter, it is otherwise with 
the houses that deal in iron-mongery, or crockery, for it is the 
nature of such wares to ring and rattle abominably when the 
articles come into contact ; not to speak of the loud objurga- 
tions of the shopkeepers, and the shriller scoldings of their 
wives, when some awkward ’prentice drops a resounding fish- 
kettle or a clanging set of fire-irons from his overloaded hands ; 
or when some still more unfortunate wight lets fall a pile of 
plates, or teacups, and destroys more in a second than his em- 
ployer has probably sold in the course of the day. The finer 
the weather, the greater is generally the hurry-scurry and the 
din accompanying these operations, for there is yet light enough 
for a good ramble in the fields, or time to bathe, or to fish, or 
play at leap-frog, or pop at the sparrows ; and the youths who 
have been chained to the counter from the rising of the sun are 
naturally over-eager now to relax and amuse themselves, and 
think they can never scamper off fast enough with the goods, 
or sweep away too many things at a time. 

Evening is not so poetical a season in many respects when it 
falls on the streets of a town, as when its shades gather round a 
village in the country ; but it is a time of rest and recreation in 
all places — a kind of little daily Sabbath, uniting those whom 


OR, THE COMING MAN 


281 


the labours of the clay have parted, gathering friends and re- 
lations in their accustomed groups again, bringing forth the 
social flask, the economised pleasantry, the suppressed affection, 
and the hoarded jest. In these respects it is not to be question- 
ed that “the hour when daylight dies ” is equally dear to shop- 
keeper and shepherd, and as charming in the tradesman’s con- 
tracted and Kidderminstered parlour, as in the rosiest thatched 
cottage, or the picturesque abode of the Vicar of Underwood. 
It is the time of the unwrinkling of brows, the washing of 
hands, and the unbending of sinews of both mind and body ; 
it is especially the time lor the replenishing of that vacuum 
which the nature of man most devoutly abhors, and happy are 
they who have wherewithal to replenish it. We are not, how- 
ever, going to relate how the inhabitants of Chichester were off 
-for provisions at this period of our story, nor what cause any of 
them may have had to grumble. We are simply mentioning 
what these -innocent country shopkeepers were doing on this 
particular summer evening; how the curriers, jumping out of 
'their skins, were beginning to remember that there is something 
better in the world even than leather ; how the weary tailors, 
nine to the complete man, were standing up to repose them- 
selves ; how the baker was breaking the bread which his hands 
had kneaded in the morning ; how, in short, men of all trades 
were trying, with more or less means of success, to make them- 
selves comfortable ; but as pretty much the same things were 
doing, at pretty much the same time of day, in every city, town, 
and village in the kingdom, w r e may safely leave it to the read- 
er’s imagination to complete the picture. 

As it were expressly to make the evening more delightful, 
there fell a slight shower in the midst of these various doings, 
just enough to sprinkle and lay the dust (that troublesome in- 
cident of fine weather), and freshen the verdure of the neigh- 
bouring fields and woods, whose leaves were scarcely stirred by 
the sparkling drops, so gently and graciously did they fall upon 
them. The shower was but an affair of a few moments. When 
it passed away, it left the sky as blue as before ; and the anxie- 
ty of the townspeople who meditated little excursions into the 
suburbs, was heightened in proportion to the improvement of 
the evening’s fascinations. 

One of the shops earliest shut on the evening in question, 
and also one of those which closed with the least bustle, was 
that of a tobacconist, situated in one of the chief streets, but 

s 


282 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


nearer to the skirts of the town than to its centre, and at the 
corner of a lane which a quarter of a century since was still 
almost a green one, through which, in a wonderfully short time, 
you found your way into the region of fields and gardens, if you 
preferred the smell of the new-mown hay to the municipal per- . 
fumes, and the song of thrushes and blackbirds to the music of 
hurdy-gurdies. 

It was a good old house, in the construction of which timber 
and red brick seemed to have been employed in proportions 
about equal. An antique in good preservation, it looked as if it 
was mouldering, and yet as if it would take a long time to 
moulder quite away at the rate decay was travelling. It looked, 
too, as if in its old age it was cherished and well looked after : 
nothing was out of repair, not a tile was deficient or broken on 
its steep roof; the windows were scrupulously bright ; and the 
painting of all the woodwork, though excessively grave, as 
became the exterior of a house of its years, was at the same 
time perfectly fresh and clean. Upon the whole, it had an air'of^ 
not only decency and respectability, but it might almost be said of 
goodness ; for it cannot but have been often observed that houses 
have their physiognomies as well as their inhabitants ; though, no 
doubt, in most cases it is the character of the man that impresses 
itself upon the dwelling, which looks cheerful or dismal, hospi- 
table or the reverse, according as it is tenanted by people like 
Matthew Cox or men like Mr. Pigwidgeon. 

The shop itself was utterly devoid of decoration — plate- 
glass had not come into general use, and the tradespeople of 
that day never dreamed of the twentieth part of the embellish- 
ments with which, now-a-days, they lure customers to their 
counters. However, even in his own day, our tobacconist’s shop 
was the plainest and homeliest shop in the town ; not a bit of 
brass was to be seen nor an inch of gilding ; and the doors and 
windows were painted some sort of snuff-colour, which, if not 
gay, was unquestionably appropriate. Nor was there any sign 
or symbol of the business vsible outside ; no wooden Highlander 
stood sneezing everlastingly over the door ; nor were even the 
leaves of the Virginian weed depicted upon the posts. The 
words “ Cox, Tobacconist,” in dull pale yellow on a dusky board, 
were almost the only outward indication of the traffic carried on 
within, if we except a few old canisters which stood in the 
windows, for the proprietor confined himself strictly to the sale 
of snuff*, and had no notion of the exhibition of boxes, with 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


283 


varnished portraits of kings and queens, groups of shepherds 
and shepherdesses, or those grotesque faces with mutually con- 
vertible chins and noses ; nothing, in short, that makes the shop- 
of a snuffman of the present day scarcely distinguishable from 
the studio of a Cheapside miniature-painter. 

The house had two doors ; one was the entrance to the shop, 
and at the angle formed by the street and the lane; the other 
was private, situated in the lane, about forty or fifty feet from the 
corner^ facing an old garden-wall, over which some' laburnums 
were hanging, now almost past their bloom, forming a canopy 
over that wooden bench upon which the Vicar found Mr. Broad, 
the worthy little cutler, seated, in the beginning of this narrative. 

The bench was now occupied by three personages. About 
two of them there can be no mistake. One was Mr. Broad 
hinpself, in the white hat and nankeen shorts which he always 
wore in the summer season ; the second was unmistakably our 
shabby acquaintance the apothecary ; and the third was the 
good-humoured Alderman Codd, who was always so ready to 
place his subscriptions and sympathies at Mr. Broad’s disposal. 
They were eagerly confabulating together upon many matters, 
but chiefly on the prospects of an approaching general - election, 
and formed a striking little group of provincial politicians, sitting 
there that fine evening, with the fading flowers of the laburnums 
dangling to the crowns of their hats, and now and then a pearly 
drop of the late shower falling on their knees, or coat-sleeves, 
after having gently trickled from leaf to leaf, down from the 
uppermost bough. Among other things, they chatted, as was 
natural, about the proprietor of the shop opposite to them. 
Mr. Broad expatiated on his public and private virtues, and pro- 
nounced him the best man in Chichester, doubting whether there 
was a better man in all England. 

“ He is one of the richest, at all events,” said Mr. Pigwid- 
geon. 

u He is an honest man, let him be ever so rich,” said the 
Alderman. 

“ If he was as rich as he is good,” said the cutler, “ he would 
be as rich as King Crccsus.” 

“ You know more about him than I do,” said the apothecary. 

“Nobody knows anything about him but what’s to his 
honour and credit,” replied Mr. Broad. 

“ He knew how to make the money, at all events,” said Mr. 
Pigwidgeon. 


284 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS , 


“ He made it honestly, and he spends it generously,” said 
Mr. Broad ; “ can any body say to the contrary ?” 

“ His snuff was always snuff,” said the Alderman. 

Just at this moment the opposite door opened, and a fine old 
man made his appearance, whose countenance was sufficient to 
identify him with the subject of Mr. Broad’s enthusiastic praises. 

He was an old man, whose knees had not yet begun to 
totter, nor his shoulders to stoop ; and his dress and entire ex- 
terior denoted the thriving tradesman and influential and wor- 
shipful burgess. His hat, which now he carried in his hand, 
was broad-brimmed and black, with something of the form and 
cock of the hats worn by ecclesiastics. The rest of his attire 
was of corresponding gravity ; it consisted of a plain brown 
suit, with abundance of good broad-cloth in it; the collar of 
his coat was single, and the quaint pig-tail nodded over it ; .the 
waistcoat reached half way down his thigh ; his roomy small- 
clothes were furnished with silver buckles at the knees ; and 
hose of light grey, with a stout pair of shoes, well blacked, but 
not shining, and also provided with massive buckles of silver, 
completed his respectable attire. Such was old Matthew Cox, 
the opulent tobacconist of Chichester, the friend of the Medlicotts, 
the creditor of Bishop Wyndham, and the kind benefactor, as 
well as relative, by marriage, of the Hopkinses, which led him, 
of course, to take a deeper interest in Reuben than he had ever 
felt before, though always his admirer and benefactor. Matthew 
had been in his youth a very handsome man ; and he was hand- 
some still in his green and flourishing old age. His hair had 
been black as the raven’s wing, but now that glory was departed, 
and his head being uncovered, you perceived that time had 
strewn his temple'’ with silver, while it filled his coffers with 
gold ; yet even the silver was not as abundant as it once had 
been. 

No sooner did he appear, than Mr. Broad and the Alderman 
rose, and saluted him with equal respect, but each after his 
fashion ; while the apothecary kept his seat, making a gruff and 
ungracious return to the civil nod of recognition with which the 
ancient burgess honoured him. 

“ Good evening to you, Mr. Broad,” said the old man, who 
was first to speak, “ and to you too, worthy Alderman, and you, 
Mr. Pigwidgeon ; a very good evening to you all three.” 

The Alderman made another civil obeisance, and the apothe- 
cary repeated his ungracious little nod. Mr. Broad, always ready. 


OB, THE COMIS & MAN. 285 

to be the spokesman on such occasions, returned Mr. Cox the 
compliments of the evening, adding 

“ And a beauteous evening it is, sir, after that refreshing 
shower.” 

“It fell opportunely for us,” said Mr. Cox; “my wife and I 
are going to sup, and probably sleep, at the garden which I took 
lately, between this and Underwood. AVe expect our good 
friends, the Vicar and his wife, to meet us there ; and if you 
three will walk with us and join the party, I promise you all a 
warm welcome and a hot supper.” 

The apothecary, contrary to his usage, returned an am- 
biguous and surly answer to this hospitable invitation, saying 
that he had still business to transact in town, and did not know 
to how late an hour he might be detained by it ; but Mr. Broad 
and the Alderman embraced the old man’s proposal with 
alacrity. 

“And we accept it the more gladly,” said the former, “ as 
the Alderman and I were ■waiting here expressly to see and con- 
sult with you, sir, on a subject of the greatest importance to a 
common friend of ours, and indeed, I may add, to the public at 
large at this eventful crisis.” 

“ That you may well call it,” said the Alderman. 

“ Perhaps I guess what you both allude to,” said Mr. Cox. 

“ It’s an eventful crisis, sir,” said Mr. Broad ; “ that’s all I’ll 
say on the subject at this present moment.” 

“ It is an eventful crisis,” said the old man ; “ I quite agree 
with you.” 

“Eventful crisis!” muttered Mr. Pigwidgeon, rising and 
moving towards the town ; “ there has been an eventful crisis 
once a-year, at least, as long as my memory serves me. I see 
nothing in this crisis more eventful than in any other, except 
that there will probably be more bribing, and treating, and cor- 
ruption of every sort, at the impending election, than ever there 
was before in this city and county ; but, but for my part, I wash 
my hands of it.” 

“ The first time I ever knew Pigwidgeon object to treating,” 
said the Alderman. 

“ To be treated, you mean,” said Mr. Cox : “ but here comes 
my wife, after keeping her old man standing for half an-hour at 
the door.” 

As soon as Mrs. Cox appeared, she dropped a cfril curtsey to 
Mr. Broad and the Alderman, the former of whom saluted her 


286 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS \ 


in his most antic manner, with one hand making his hat perform 
a curvet in the air, with the other twitching up one of his long 
coat-tails, while with his feet he kicked up a little cloud of dust, 
in the enthusiasm of his politeness. 

There was something decidedly Quakerish about Mrs. Cox’s 
exterior ; her brown silk dress and her gray silk bonnet might 
have passed in the Meeting ; indeed it was only from the minor 
details, and the use of the plural pronoun when she spoke, that 
you discovered she did not actually belong to the Society of 
Friends. She had, however, been a Quakeress in her time, and 
was come of worthy and excellent people, the Hopkinses and 
Penroses of Devonshire, a race not more distinguished by their 
mercantile enterprise and success than by their indefatigable 
exertions in the cause of humanity and civilization all over the 
globe. The Romillies and the Clarkson’s knew them well ; but 
though their history is worth writing, it cannot be given here. 
The evening advances rapidly, and the old man is impatient to 
proceed. TIis wife took his arm conjugally, as if she had a right 
to it, and a right she was proud to exercise. Then the order to 
march was given, and the married couple led the way to the gar- 
den, followed by the Alderman and the cutler, the latter talking 
indefatigably on the subject of the election, and thanking Provi- 
dence at every third step that Mr. Medlicott had not set out on 
his projected lecturing tour in the United States. 


CHAPTER H. 

A SUMMER EVENING’S WALK. 

The way to the garden consisted almost entirely of a crooked 
series of green lanes, winding through orchards and meadows ; 
sometimes passing a nest or a row of cottages, sometimes con- 
ducting to a substantial farm or a villa of some pretension. At a 
short distance from town stood three extremely neat little houses ' 
covered with roses, two of them joining one another, the third 
separated by a paddock, but at a neighbourly distance. From 
the lane they were divided by small enclosures, full of flowers, 
particularly the detached one, which was so very full that you 
could scarce see the smallest patch of the earth which yielded 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


287 


tliem. This row of cottages had been built by Doctor Wynd- 
ham, and had lately come into Mr. Cox’s possession, together with 
other property (including the more imposing structures at Here- 
ford), in satisfaction of the pecuniary obligation under which the 
Bishop stood to the wealthy tobacconist, as has been recorded in 
the beginning of these memoirs. No landlord was ever more 
particular about the character of his tenants than old Matthew ; 
but in him this arose far less from anxiety about his rents, than 
from his desire to be connected in every relation of life with res- 
pectable and .worthy people. As to those cottages, he would 
sooner have pulled them down than have let them to anybody 
whom he did not believe deserving of a settlement in so pretty a 
colony ; and one of them had actually been untenanted for some 
i months, because the proprietor had not yet met with an offer 
from a quarter he approved. The insulated cottage was called 
Maryland, in compliment to Mary Medlicott ; for Air. Cox had 
virtually settled it upon her on her marriage, not so much, how- 
ever, in the hopes of Reuben ever making so humble a spot his 
permanent residence, as to provide a comfortable retreat and 
asylum near her friends for the venerable Quaker-mother during 
the remnant of her days. Mrs. Hopkins was established there 
| already, and though her daughter was with her husband in Lon- 
| don, the old woman neither complained of her solitude, nor, in- 
: deed, found it irksome, — her flowers were such agreeable company, 

| and she was so proud to reflect that she was mother-in-law to 
| the most promising man of the age. 

1 . What was now in agitation among Mr. Medlicott’s friends at 
Chichester was to procure him a seat in Parliament, and, if pos- 
I sible, for that city. Mr. Cox, Mr. Broad, and the Alderman, 
talked of nothing else during their walk, Mr. Broad being of the 
j three the most energetic and enthusiastic on the subject, the 
idea having originated in his ardent mind, which gave h ; m a 
kind of parental interest in the scheme. Pie had almost brought 
himself to think that the very existence of the renowned British 
empire depended upon Reuben’s introduction into the House ; 
and, such is the contagion of honest zeal, not a day passed with- 
out his making some new convert to that opinion, extravagant 
as we must admit that it was. Mr. Cox had berm brought round, 
not without some difficulty, arhd even now, although he concurred 
in the design, it was with more moderate expectations than Mr. 
Broad cherished, and not without some doubt on his mind that 
Parliament was a hazardous enterprise for a man like Mr. Medli* 


288 the universal genius ; 

cott, without a square inch of patrimony, and with little moi*6 
than the name of a profession. Mr. Cox, however, saw clearly 
that Reuben was not destined ever to be a working lawyer, and 
he was, therefore, the more easily persuaded to assist in placing 
him in a new sphere, and giving* his talents another trial. Al- 
though politically opposed to the objects of that memorable de- 
monstration at Chichester, where Reuben had delivered his maiden 
speech, old Matthew had attended the meeting expressly to hear 
his young friend’s oratory, had heard it with extreme delight, 
and fallen, with many other people, into the serious mistake of 
conceiving platform success to be proof of parliamentary ability. 
A complete change of parties had taken place since that time. 
The question of reform had brought Reuben and Mr. Cox into 
harmony again, so that there was no inconsistency in the part 
which the latter was now taking ; on the contrary, it was a junc- 
ture when opulent and influential men of Mr. Cox’s class were 
everywhere on the look-out for rising talents and promising 
abilities, — for u coming men,” in short, to wield the new powers 
with which the democracy was now invested, and turn the im- 
proved representation of the people to immediate practical account. 
Every one, of course, had his own favorite question, or questions. 
Mr. Cox, for example, having, with his naturally strong and 
shrewd understanding, early in life, grasped the great principle of 
free trade, was, perhaps, more anxious upon that subject than 
any other ; but he was also led by his family connections with 
the sect of Quakers to take a lively interest in the abolition of 
slavery in the West Indies, prison reform, and some other ques- 
tions of the same philanthropic character. Mr. Broad was more 
bent upon reforming the Church, and restoring Poland to inde- 
pendence, in which objects he was followed most obsequiously by 
Alderman Codd, who, however, entertained a private opinion 
(which he sometimes took occasion to broach), that the grand 
measure to look forward to, in the Reformed Parliament, was the 
paying off the National Debt. 

“ There is plenty of work to be done,” said Mr. Cox, as they 
moved along, enjoying the fragrance of the fields, and the even- 
ing song of the thrushes and the blackbirds : “ we only want the 
men to do it.” 

“ The men will not be wanting, sir,” said the Alderman, “ I’ll 
answer for it.” 

“ You’ll answer for it,” repeated the little cutler, mockingly ; 
“ it’s easy to say that ; but when a man is to be found equal to 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 289 

the wort, will you put your hand in your pocket, and come 
down with the dust ?” 

“ I was never backward to come forward, when I once saw 
my way clear before me, and nobody knows that better than 
you, Mr. Broad. Didn’t I sympathise with the Poles, when you 
asked me ? Didn’t I sign the petition to expel the bishops from 
the House of Lords ? And now let me tell you, if a hundred 
pounds, or so, is wanting to bring, Mr. Reuben Medlicott in for 
this city, or any place else, on the popular interest, there is not a 
man in Chichester will give it more cheerfully than I will ; only 
I hope Mr. Medlicott will be prepared to answer a question I 
shall feel it my duty to ask him on the subject of the National 
Debt.” 

“ Ask him what questions you like,” said Mr. Broad, “ and I 
warrant you will get your answer. I have heard my distin- 
guished friend talk for an hour on that very subject, and about the 
currency, sir, arid the sinking-fund, and the one-pound notes.” 

“ I doubt, Alderman,” said old Matthew, “ if the question of 
the National Debt is as pressing just now as some others I could 
mention.” 

“ The Church, sir, and the dangerous power of Russia,” said 
Mr. Broad eagerly. 

Old Matthew smiled, and the cutler perceiving it drew in his 
horns, and proceeded to candidly admit that the Corn Laws and 
Negro Emancipation were also very proper objects to engage the 
attention of Parliament. 

u In my opinion,” said the Alderman, u we ought to pledge 
our representatives to everything.” 

“ Pledge them to nothing, I say,” said Mr. Cox ; “ let us 
look for the honestest and ablest men we can get, agreeing as 
nearly as possible with ourselves in the general principles of lib- 
eral policy, and then let us leave their discretion absolutely un- 
fettered, — that seems to me to be the wisest course, and the most 
constitutional.” 

“ It stands to reason, sir,” said Mr. Broad. 

u Well,” said the Alderman, “ I think there are two pledges, 
at least, that ought to be required from every member of Par- 
liament.” 

Mr. Cox asked him what pledges he meant. 

“ Never to be absent from the house while the Speaker is in 
the chair, and to speak upon every interesting and important 
question.” 


IS 


590 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


Mr. Cox shook his head and laughed. 

“I am afraid,” he said, “ there would be more talking than 
doing, Alderman, if your principle was carried out.” 

“ My principle is,” said the Alderman, “ that the Government 
is for doing, and the Parliament for talking ; — that’s my idea of 
the British Constitution, which I once heard Mr. Medlicott him- 
self say was ‘ the envy of surrounding nations and the wonder 
of the world.’ ” 

“ And it was an original and eloquent obsen ation, sir,” said 
Mr. Broad, — “ it’s eloquence we want, sir, and eloquence we 
must have. The House of Commons is not a Quaker’s meeting- 
house, humbly begging Mrs. Cox’s pardon for the remark, which 
I make with no disrespect for the Quakers, — a sect which no- 
body honours more than I do.” Here he drew up to make one 
of his ludicrous bows, and again kicked up a cloud of dust with 
his too active politeness. 

“ You were treading on dangerous ground,” said old Matthew, 
smiling, “ but you have brought yourself off very cleverly, we 
must confess, and I dare say my wife will forgive you this 
1 time.” 

“ I doubt if I shall,” said Mrs. Cox, “ for Mr. Broad speaks 
as if there was no such thing as an eloquent Quaker ; and I can 
assure him I have heard in my time, not only eloquent Quakers, 
but eloquent Quakeresses, — what does he say to that ?” 

“ Eloquence is a strong word, Rachael,” said her husband, 
shaking his head. 

“ When I said eloquent, Matthew,” she answered, “ I meant 
Friends who could hold forth for a long time together, and talk 
very loud, though we did not always perfectly understand what 
they said, and sometimes, I am afraid, it came in at one ear and 
went out at the other.” 

“ Long, loud, and incomprehensible ; there, gentlemen, is my 
wife’s notion of eloquence for you,” said Mr. Cox, laughing. 

“ Well, indeed,” said Mrs. Cox, “ I never could understand 
ooor Hannah Hopkins, although I did my best, and she was 
very large in the ministry and considered very eloquent. Some 
people thought she did not always understand herself.” 

“I heard her preach once,” said Matthew ; “it was all about 
Daniel in the den of lions, and I very well remember how she 
anded her sermon. — ‘ I don’t know, she said, whether you under- 
stand me. It is very likely you don’t ; but I know myself what 
I mean.’” 


OR. THE COMING MAN. 


291 


Apropos to Hannah Hopkins, the pedestrians were now very 
near her cottage, and a little consultation took place whether she 
should be invited or not to join the party. It was decided in the 
negative, no doubt for sufficient reasons, and Mr. Cox was anx- 
ious to pass by without being observed by the Quaker-mother ; 
but that was out of the question, for she was sitting at her dooi 
knitting and enjoying the wilderness of sweets in her little gar- 
den. Mr. Cox, no longer holding his wife’s arm, was now lead- 
ing the way, with his hands clasped behind his back, as his man- 
ner was, and looking straight before him in the most determined 
manner. 

“ Matthew Cox, Matthew Cox, dost thou hear me, friend 
Matthew ?” 

He was defeated, and there was nothing for it but to surren- 
der at discretion, which he and his worthy wife did with the best 
grace, and all their natural cordiality, desiring Hannah to put her 
things on at once, and accompany them to Virginia to supper. 

“ And Mr. Broad and the Alderman will see thee safe at home 
again, Hannah,” said Matthew, “ if thou wilt trust thyself with 
such gay fellovVs.” 

“Thank thee kindly, friend Broad — friend Codd, thou art 
always kind and obliging.” 

Mr. Cox offered her his arm, but she declined the attention, 
to keep her hands free for her needles, which, had they been 
worked by machinery, could not have been plied more uninter- 
mittingly. 

“ I’ll walk by thy side, Matthew,” she said, “ and enjoy and 
profit by thy conversation.” 

The wild flowers, however, were continually seducing her 
from the path of rectitude. At last she nettled her haifd in 
grasping a dog-rose, and Matthew had to gather dock-leaves to 
cure her, promising her, at the same time, abundance of flowers 
from his garden, and bidding her trouble herself no more about 
the weeds in the hedges. This quieted her, but she carefully 
stuck the dock-leaves into her nosegay, and soon forgot all other 
subjects of interest in talking of Reuben and Mary, from both of 
whom she had a pocketful of letters, which she would have stop- 
i ped to read on the roadside if Mr. Cox had encouraged her. She 
j gratified Mr. Broad, however, by letting him see Reuben’s hand- 
writing, which he happened never to have seen before, and now 
pronounced to be decidedly the hand of a man of genius. “ The 
: hand of a statesman, sir ; not of a writing-master ” — and Alder- 


292 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


man Codd was compelled to agree, though he had certain* y ne 
Vv>r seen the hand of a statesman before. 


CHAPTER IIL 

PLEASURE BEFORE BUSINESS. 

Virginia, or the snuff-box, as the wits of Chichester used to call 
it, was a mere garden, covering about an acre of ground, with a 
neat lodge or cottage in the middle of it* From the road, or 
lane, it was separated by a high wooden paling, in which there 
was a small gate, or rather door, provided with a bell, hung in 
the most beautiful belfry you can imagine, among the boughs of 
a magnificent horse-chestnut, now covered with its fine hyacinth- 
Ine flowers in all their summer glory. Mr. Cox pulled the cord, 
or wire, and the first answer he received was the deep bark of 
his great dog Constable, a terror not only to the evil-doers of all 
the country round, but also to many who were not evil-doers, 
especially the Quakers, who always shuddered at his voice, and' 
were miserable until they were assured that he was chained up 
in the securest manner. 

“ He is not the most amiable dog in the world, I must own,” 
said Matthew, “ but he defends the cucumbers and the strawber- 
ries : we must give him credit, Hannah, for that.” 

“ A good public officer, though a bad family-dog,” said a famil- 
iar voice on the other side of the door, which was instantly 
opened by our old friend the Vicar, who had already arrived at 
the hospitable rendezvous. 

“ I hope you are not alone,” said Mr. Cox, shaking the Vi- 
car’s hand heartily. 

“Very far from it,” said his reverence; “there are more of 
us than I believe you bargained for ; but a couple of friends gave 
us an agreeable surprise this morning at breakfast, and we ven- 
tured to bring them with us, hoping to give you an equally agree- 
able surprise this evening at supper.” 

The next moment produced ,Mrs. Medlicott from behind a 
creen of bushes, accompanied by Hyacinth, Mr. Primrose, and , 
y r. Page. 

The visit of the latter to Chichester was merely in perform- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


293 


ance of his long-standing promise to spend a few days with his 
friend, the Vicar ; but it proved exceedingly opportune for Reu- 
ben, for his greatest enemy was a man with whom nobody was 
so fit to grapple as the Doctor ; and, moreover, it required all 
the influence of so old a friend and crony as Page to overcome 
the Vicar’s repugnance to the new rig (as he called it), which his 
son Was about to run, instead of working steadily at something 
or another to provide for his wife and children. 

The Doctor was the same pleasant, confident, hearty, ener- 
getic, ready fellow, in the same flagrantly unmedical costume as 
when we last saw him on the Welch mountains ; but there was 
a decided change visible in Hyacinth, and the Vicar had noticed 
it the moment lie saw him ; it was not in his figure, for a few 
years had not much increased his portliness, nor in his face, for 
that wore its habitual agreeable air of “genteel comedy,” nor in 
his manners, for they were airy and mercurial as ever ; it was al- 
most .entirely in his dress, which was a complete suit of black, 
although he was not in mourning. In fact, Mr. Primrose was on 
the point of taking orders, and we may add (although it was then 
still a secret from the world), on the point of taking a wife also ; 
it having been arranged that he was to espouse the Church and 
widow at the same time, — a species of bigamy which the bishop 
was so far from disapproving, that he had already promised him 
his domestic chaplaincy and the first vacant living : so much bet- 
ter than Reuben did Hyacinth understand the art of thriving by 
his versatility. 

Primrose, however, while about to take that comfortable 
place in the favour of fortune which Mr. Medlicott spurned, felt 
it the more his duty to interest himself in his friend’s success in 
the more hazardous enterprise he was now engaged in. If he 
had been rich, he would have spent his money freely in.JReuben’s 
cause ; as he was not, he did all that was in his power to do, by 
promptly and zealously complying with Mrs. Mountjoy’s request, 
that he would hasten to Chichester, and take care that her ne- 
phew’s promotion in the world should not be stopped for the 
want of a few hundred pounds. 

While daylight lasted, which was not very long, the party 
rambled about the garden, sometimes pairing off, sometimes 
meeting in knots where the alleys crossed, and eagerly confabu- 
lating all together. Dr. Page was pleased with Dr. Cox ; Mr. 
Primrose was enchanted with Mr. Broad ; Mrs. Medlicott found a 
patient listener in the Alderman ; the Vicar and Mrs. Cox had 


294 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


long been the best friends in the world. Everybody, in short, 
was charmed with everybody, which is not always the case in 
more distinguished assemblies. In truth it was an election-com- 
mittee, and nothing else, so much did the election and Reuben’s , 
prospects engross the conversation, until at length Mrs. Medlicott ] 
(who looked on the party in that light only) became so excited, 
and talked so volubly and so wildly about this borough and that 
borough, the subscriptions to be raised, the speeches to be made, 
the agents to be employed, what she was resolved to do herself, 
and what she thought everybody else ought to do, that it ended 
in her vehemence and prolixity completely bothering and disgust- 
ing the men of the party, especially her husband, who protested, 
as soon as supper was announced, against hearing any more on 
the subject, appealing to Hannah Hopkins whether there was 
not “ a time for all things.” 

Mrs. Medlicott was most indignant at this appeal to the Quaker- 
ess, towards whom she still entertained a grudge, for her share 
in Reuben’s marriage. Her eyes flashed green fire at poor Mrs. 
Hopkins; at least it looked green, through the medium of her 
spectacles ; but in truth Mrs. Hopkins was as little tired of the 
discussion as herself : only the good old woman knew no more 
about elections and boroughs than the man in the moon. 

The supper was a good specimen of the domestic arrange- 
ments of the Coxes, of which extreme neatness and simplicity 
-were the sensible and agreealfle characteristics. Matthews’s 
Quaker marriage had been a source of great comfort and 
rational enjoyment to him all through life ; it brought the best 
members of that excellent sect about him, and it gave him what 
mere wealth would not have given, the cheap luxuries of order 
and cleanliness in perfection. Cleanlines is as inherent in the 
Quakers as a sect, as it is in the Dutch as a nation. Rachel Cox 
was not excelled in this respect by the most exemplary house- 
wife in all Holland. The only dust in her house was the snuff 
in her husband’s canisters, and the very sight of her table lent 
a zest and piquancy to the plainest food that was laid upon it. 

It was comparatively easy to avoid talking of election mat- 
ters, but absolutely impossible to avoid talking of Reuben, when 
so many of his devoted admirers were present, and when his 
very absence, as usual, made him only the more thought of. 
Mr. Primrose had never heard Reuben speak in public. Mr. 
Broad gave him a delicious account of the speech at the Free- 
masons’ Tavern, and this *et every tongue going upon the tire- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


295 


Bome cause of Poland, until the Vicar was as much bored by 
this new topic as he before had been by the general election. 
He was meditating how to effect a division without offending 
anybody, when his end was answered by# old Mrs. Hopkins, 
who, being always fond of hearing learned discussions, was now 
suddenly seized with a desire to hear the opinions of the' com- 
pany on the nature of sympathy : “ for,” said she, “ my Mary 
and I have puzzled our brains many and many a time about it, 
and we were never the wiser for our pains. What, dost thou 
think, friend Primrose ?” 

Primrose was almost too much amused to answer ; but at 
length he said, “ that sympathy was one pole of an animal-mag- 
net ; antipathy was the other.” 

The question was then passed to Mrs. Medlicott, who had 
been disagreeably silent on ceasing to be disagreeably loquacious ; 
but now, being under the necessity of speaking and maintaining 
her philosophical reputation, she 'assumed her most didactic tone, 
and replied, “ that it was a very abstruse subject, more abstruse 
than probably Mrs. Hopkins had any notion of there was a 
great deal about it in Kant’s philosophy ; more, indeed, than 
she was disposed herself to concur in ; she hardly hoped to be 
perfectly understood ; but the view she was , disposed to take 
was, that sympathy was that which formed the species, while it 
absorbed, or, in a transcendental sense, annihilated the indivi- 
dual” 

“There, Madam, I must make bold to differ from you,” Cried 
the Alderman, “for when I, as an humble individual, sympathised 
with the Poles, at the urgent request of my friend beside me, I 
w T as certainly not annihilated, for here I am to say so.” 

“But you were absorbed, sir, were you not ?” said Primrose, 
with a side-glance at Mrs. Medlicott, as if he fully participated 
in the contempt which her countenance already showed she en- 
tertained for the simple Alderman. 

“Yes, you were absorbed, Alderman, — I must do yon th-'i 
justice to say you were absorbed,” said Mr. Broad. 

The Alderman “ owned the soft impeachment and now 
it came to poor Mrs. Cox’s turn, who soon gave the riddle up, 
with a despairing sigh, which made everybody laugh; the Vicar, 
however, maintained that it was a capital practical definition 

“ What dost thou say thyself, friend Thomas?” 

“Well, Hannah,” replied the Vicar, laying down his knife 
and fork, and looking as metaphysical as he could; — “Well, 


296 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 

Hannah, let us see — What is sympathy ? Now suppose I was 
just now to feel an inclination for a glass of this olcl port, and 
that you were to feel at the same time, of that I were to inspire 
you with a wish to have a glass too — I should be strongly dis- 
posed to say that was sympathy.” 

Mr. Cox filled the Qakeress’s glass to the brim. 

“Our host’s port, Hannah, is better than my philosophy,” 
said the Vicar, drinking to her, and laying down his glass. 

“ I like friend Matthew’s port, and I like thy philosophy,” 
said the old woman, growing mellow rapidly; — “dost thou 
remember the fable of the shepherd and the philosopher? My 
Mary would be happy to repeat it for thee, if she was here.” 

Mrs. Cox was so good-natured to Mrs. Hopkins, or so cruel 
to her company, as to express a hope that Hannah would favour 
the company with the fable herself, in her daughter’s absence ; 
and beyond a doubt the hope wou'd have been indulged, had 
not Mrs. Medlicott (who was in no very equable temper after 
the dry rub her husband had given her before supper) riser* 
from the table abruptly, and with a most unconvivial allusion to 
the progress of time, put an end to the merry meeting. 

“We have spent a very pleasant evening,” said the Vicar, 
putting on his hat. 

“ A little business, in my opinion, might have been mixed 
with the pleasure, at a moment like this,” said Mrs. Medlicott 
bitterly, and putting on her bonnet. 

“ Morning is the time for business,” said her husband. 

“ I agree with his reverence,” said old Matthew. 

The Doctor, as a medical man, was of the same opinion. Mr; 
Broad agreed with the Doctor, and the Alderman, as a matter of 
course, concurred entirely with Mr. Broad. The result of this 
general concurrence was an arrangement to meet for the dispatch 
of business at breakfast the following morning, at the Vicarage. 
It was not, howevei\ understood that either Mrs. Hopkins or Mrs. 
Cox should attend the committee ; and the Vicar would not have 
been displeased if his wife could have been included in the same 
understanding. 


OB, THE COMING MAN. 


297 


CHAPTER IV. 

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 

The Vicar was quite right. Eyeping is the time for pleasure, 
and morning is the time for affairs. Reuben’s little committee 
of friends got through more business round the breakfast-table in 
a couple of hours, than they could have transacted at supper in 
twice the space of time ; nor did any of the party sincerely regret 
that Mrs. Medlicott was prevented from appearing in consequence 
of an attack of rheumatism, brought on by walking home from 
supper in the night air. 

“ Let us begin with the finances,” said Mr. Cox. “ It is not 
the fault of us, reformers, if elections are not to be conducted 
without money. As things are, however, it is out of the ques- 
tion. Bribery will never be encouraged, or sanctioned by me, 
either in Chichester or elsewhere ; but an election, under existing 
4 circumstances,' involves other expenses of no inconsiderable 
amount, and for those we must provide in the first instance. 
Supposing a contest to take place, what sum, Broad, do you 
think we shall have occasion for — to meet the legitimate ex- 
penses ?” 

Mr. Broad thought a thousand pounds would bring his illus- 
trious' friend into Parliament for his native city. 

The Alderman sensibly remarked, that legitimate expense 
was a very indefinite thing ; he should not like to engage in a con- 
test, unless there was at least a couple of thousand in the purse. 

The Vicar was afraid that so large a sum might be a tempta- 
tion to cross the boundary between the legitimate expenses and 
the illegitimate. 

“ That can be provided against,” continued the Alderman, 
“ by placing the purse in the hands of somebody of such rigid 
probity as to remove all fear upon that score.” 

“ If Mr. Cox will be treasurer,” said the Vicar, “ I waive my 
objection.” 

Mr. Primrose here sagaciously interposed, observing that it 
would be unfair to impose such a heavy duty on Mr. Cox, and 
suggesting that Mr. Broad should carry the bag. 

The little cutler jumped up, then sat down, fidgeted in his 
chair, thanked Mr. Primrose, and was manifestly pleased at being 
nominated to the office. 

13 * 


298 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS 


“ But,” said he, v “ the responsibility will be too much for tbe 
shoulders of an humble man like me ; I hope, gentlemen, you 
will give me a colleague.” 

“ I am sure,” said Hyacinth, “ my friend Dr. Page won’t 
object to be named along with you.” 

“ On the contrary, I shall be most happy,” said the confident 
Doctor ; and as nobody, of course, had any objection to make, 
Mr. Primrose had the satisfaction of seeing the financial arrange- 
ments placed in the hands of two of Reuben’s most enthusiastic 
and least scrupulous friends. The Vicar and Mr. Cox were com- 
pletely hoodwinked; and, indeed, neither the cutler nor the 
Doctor had a notion of what Hyacinth’s drift was in making them 
joint-treasurers ; but Hyacinth knew who was who, and what 
was what, better than anybody at the table. 

“ Now, to raise the money,” said the Alderjnan. 

Primrose took out his pocket-book, and held his pencil in 
readiness to enter the subscriptions. 

“ Put down three hundred for me,” said Mr. Cox. 

The Vicar rose from the table to conceal his emotion at old. 
Matthew’s liberality, which he knew had its source in the strength 
of his private affections. He then left the room to acquaint his 
wife with Mr. Cox’s munificence. While he was absent, Mr. 
Broad subscribed two hundred, the Alderman one ; and then 
Mr. Cox, putting his haud into his pocket with solemnity, pro- 
duced two letters he had received that very morning. One was 
from a Quaker bookseller in London, no other than our friend 
Harvey, who had levied contributions to the extent of six hun- 
dred pounds from members of the Society of Friends in the me- 
tropolis, interested in the cause of universal philanthropy, and 
anxious to have it eloquently represented in Parliament. The 
other was a communication from Mrs. Winning, of Sunbury, sub- 
scribing hundred. 

“We have one thousand, three hundred already,” said Prim- 
rose, entering the sums ; “ and I am authorised by another Lon- 
don bookseller, Mr. Trevor, to put down his name for any sum 
not exceeding a hundred. Master Turner will give the same, and 
Lord Maudlin will go as far as three, if we want it.” 

“ Who the deuce is Lord Maudlin ?” cried Dr. Page. 

If you had but seen Mr. Broad’s looks and gesticulations at 
such a question ! 

“ Lord Maudlin, sir,” he replied, with ludicrous energy, “ is 
i possible, sir, you don’t know who Lord Viscourt Maudlin is ? 


OR, THE COMING- MAN. 


299 


Tv'fy, sh, it was liis lordship who took the chair at that great 
meeting in London on behalf of unfortunate Poland, where Mr. 
Reuben Medlicott made that famous speech, which I had the 
J leasure and honour of hearing. Why, sir, he spoke upon that 
grand occasion for two mortal hours and a half without ever 
drawing his breath.” 

“ Quiet, Broad, quiet now,” said Mr. Cox, gently tapping 
him on the shoulder ; “ keep to the point, or we shall never get 
through business. How much have we now, Mr. Primrose ?” 

“ One thousand, eight hundred,” said Hyacinth, totting his 
entries. 

“ Which I am ready to make the square two thousand,” said 
I/!. Page. He had scarcely .spoken when a servant came in and 
presented Mr. Medlicott with a letter. It was from the Earl of 
Stromness, and assured the Vicar that if the contest for Chiches- 
ter took the turn it threatened to take at that moment, he would 
be very happy to support his son, and would willingly bear a 
reasonable share of the expense of his election. 

44 We shall have too much money,” said the Vicar. 

“ No harm in a little surplus,” said the Doctor. 

“ The only man who ever finds a surplus troublesome is the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer,” said Primrose. 

So little was he perplexed himself by the superabundance of 
resources, that it made him very comfortable to think he had 
Mrs. Mountjoy’s contribution quietly in reserve. He said nothing 
about it for fear of alarming the Vicar still more, but determined 
to put i f privately into the Doctor’s hands, having little doubt a 
necessity would practically arise for relaxing the strict rules of 
morality, for which, in theory (he flattered himself), he enter- 
tained as profound a respect as any man. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Cox, addressing Mr. Broad, 44 now I give 
you your freedom ; if you have anything to say on the subject of 
our friend Reuben’s qualifications for Parliament, we are ready 
to hear you.” He laid a gentle emphasis on the word “ qualifi- 
cation” in this sentence. 

“ He has every possible qualification,” cried the zealous cutler. 
44 Let any man get up and say what qualification he wants.” 

Primrose shook his head. 

44 1 am afraid,” said he, 44 1 must respectfully differ from Mr. 
Broad, though I entertain so high an opinion of my friend’s 
abilities ; but I have a letter from liimself upon the subject ; you 
shall all hear what he says.” 


300 the universal genius ; 

“ The modesty, sir, that always accompanies distinguished 
merit,” said Mr. Broad. 

Primrose smiled, and read Reuben’s letter to the company, 
which soon enlightened Mr. Broad as to the nature of the quali- 
fication that was now in question. 

The Vicar disliked evading the law, although an unreasonable 
and absurd one. 

Mr. Primrose suggested that a successful evasion of the law 
could never be a wrong proceeding, for it could only succeed by 
being beyond impeachment; and if unimpeachable by law, it 
was permissible by law, and therefore legal in the strictest sense 
of the word. 

Mr. Broad applauded this reasoning highly ; but Matthew 
Cox looked sceptical, and smiled, adding, however, that a way 
had occurred to him by which Reuben could be provided with a 
bon&-fide property qualification, though he was unable to say 
more on the subject at that moment. , Perhaps the gentlemen 
would refer that subject altogether to him. With the advice of 
his lawyer, he trusted to settle it satisfactorily. 

This matter having been disposed of, it seemed as if every- 
thing had been done that could be done at present, when it sud- 
denly occurred to Mr. Primrose that Reuben’s consent had not 
yet been formally asked to stand for Chichester. 

“ We must write to him to come down at once,” said Mr. 
Cox. 

“ Pardon me,” said Primrose ; 11 in my opinion, instead of 
asking him to come down to you, some of you ought to go up 
to him.” 

“ Hear Mr. Primrose,” cried Broad, lustily. 

“ Hear, hear,” re-echoed the Alderman. 

“ Hear, hear,” cried another and a strange voice, at soms 
little distance. It was Sirach the raven, who had just hopped in 
through an open window, and who had never forgotten the cry 
since he first learned it, when Dr. Pigwidgeon delivered Reuben’s 
speech from the pear-tree. 

“ My advice is a deputation,” said Mr. Broad ; and the gene- 
ral opinion being in favour of that measure (the Vicar alone dis- 
sentient), a deputation was then and there resolved on, to consist 
of Mr.' Broad, the Alderman, and another influential citizen, 
whose co-operation might be relied on. Mr. Broad was for set- 
ting out that very evening, but the following morning was ulti- 
mately fixed on ; and it was also agreed to keep the entire affair 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 301 

as quiet as possible for the present. Mr. Cox and Primrose 
pressed this strongly. 

“ Especially from Mr. Pigwidgeon,” said Doctor Page. 

“ From Mr. Pigwidgeon above all men,” said Mr. Cox: 
“Mum’s the word,” said Mr. Broad; but before the sun 
went down upon Chichester, nobody in that city, who was in a 
position to know anything of such matters, was ignorant of 
what Mr. Medlicott’s friends were about, or of the important 
embassy that was going up to London. 


»« • 

CHAPTER V. 

BIRACH, THE RAVEN. 

“A fine old bird, that raven of yours, Mr. Medlicott,” said 
Primrose, as they sat under the walnut-tree, after sunset, that 
same evening ; “ a fine old bird ; what may his age be ?” 

“ Unknown,” said the Vicar ; “I had him from my prede- 
cessor in this living, who told me he received him from his pre- 
decessor, who told him the same story. When I came first to 
Underwood, there was an ancient gravedigger here — his own 
grave has since been dug — from whom I learned that he re- 
membered Sirach as long as Tie remembered anything connected 
with the parish ; and when he first knew the bird, one of his 
jhrases was Old Noll — he used to cry Old Noll — from which 
J infer that Sirach could tell us something about the Common- 
wealth if he was disposed to be communicative. I sometimes 
say tc my wife, that it is not impossible he may have seen ‘ the 
Good Parson.’ ” 

“ I should say he certainly has, sir,” said Primrose. 

“Sees him- every day,” said Dr. Page 

The Vicar acknowledged the compliments of his guests with 
a bow and a smile, while Primrose began to speculate upon the 
notion of the raven writing his memoirs. 

“ What an historian he would make, with his old experience, 
if he would only pluck a quill from his own wing and give us 
his personal reminiscences.” 

“The annals of a single vicarage,” said Mr. Medlicott, 
“ would doubtless be a ve^uable supplement to general ecclesi- 


302 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ! 


astical history, as well as an acceptable addition to our know 
ledge of domestic life and manners. I wish we could induce 
Sirach to undertake it.” 

“ Is he conscientious ?” asked Primrose. 

“Fora raven,” said the Vicar; “but I fear a comparison 
with other fowl would not be much in his favour ; in fact, were 
lie to apply himself to literature with his present habits, I should 
be apprehensive of his being detected in a plagiarism now and 
/hen.” 

“ I dare say,” said the Doctor, laughing already at the re- 
mark he was about to make, “ he has not lived so long among 
Churchmen without having learned how to feather his nest.” 

“Take care, of yourself, Doctor,” said Hyacinth, “take care 
what you say of the Church ; we are three to one on the pre- 
sent occasion, for I reckon Sirach an ecclesiastic.” 

“He may know howto feather his nest,” said the Vicar, 
“ and he does know how ; but he has only one to feather ; he 
is no pluralist, let me tell you, any more than myself; nor was 
he ever- proceeded against by the Ordinary for non-residence. 
He passes his life pretty much as his master does, between this 
garden and that consecrated ground yonder, behind thos, yews, 
where he spends much of his time of late, particularly towards 
the dusk, hopping and croaking among the graves ; probably 
communing with those who sleep there, and informing them, 
out of his prophetic spirit, how soon it will be my Lt lo join 
them, and his to be raven to a new incumbent.” 

“ Hue omnes cogimur ,” said Primrose, with a sigh that re- 
sponded to that with which the Vicar had ended his speech. 

“ The house that lasts till doomsday,” said the Doctor. 

The Vicar then related how Sirach had first learned to cry 
u here, here,” like a parliament man. 

“ A taste for eloquence in a raven,” said Primrose, “ is not 
more surprising than a taste for poetry in an ass. Ammonius, 
a philosopher of the Greek empire, had an ass who had such 
a love of poetry, that he would forbear eating his pro vender 
rather than withdraw his attention from a poem read to him. 
The story is told by Photius.” 

“ For the edification of the marines, I presume,” said the 
Doctor. 

Here the party was joined by Mrs. Medlicott, which, as usual, 
put an end to all rational conversation. She dashed at once 
into the controversy between reason and instinct, uttering such 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


303 


a farrago of Lard words, and odds and ends of rr e-taphysical 
disquisitions, bringing in Malebranehe Lead and ears, and even 
going tlie unfeminine lengtL of talking of “ aesthetics,” wliich 
was her Lusband’s horror, that it was a general relief to her 
audience when the bells of Chichester, tolling the hour of nine, 
and distinctly audible in the stillness of a summer evening, 
interrupted the lecture. 

The delighted Vicar held up his finger, inviting attention, 
while the clock of St. Martin’s commenced the concert, with a 
voice of profound solemnity. St. Mary’s followed with a 
plaintive sweetness, like a snatch of psalmody, as if its bells 
were of silver. Before she was quite done, St. Olave took up 
the tale ; but ere it was half told, St. Peter the Great came 
cl Iming in so sonorously that St. Olave might just as well 
1 ave remained mute. At this point the humble clock of Un- 
derwood struck modestly in, only louder than its brazen brother- 
hood, because it was so near at hand. After this there was one 
moment’s intense silence ; v and then spoke out St. Andrew, 
sending his nine piercing notes into the sky so very hastily, that 
you fancied he was trying to overtake the others, or that he had 
suddenly awoke, and was impatient to have done with his task 
and go to sleep again. He was the last of the ecclesiastical 
clocks ; and as to the civilians, they were scarcely worth sitting 
to listen to, with the exception of an old cuckoo in the Vicar’s 
kitchen, which sang out the usual hour of supper so sweetly 
and naturally, that you could scarcely have heard it at any sea- 
son of the year without thinking it was the warm month of 
June, and, in truth, it was generally sultry weather in the place 
where that cuckoo’s note came from. 




CHAPTER VI. 

IN WmOH A DISCOVERY IS MADE THAT STTRPSISES EVERYBODY. 

Mr. Hyacinth Primrose and Dr. Page were now such good 
friends, with such a mutual 'dish for one another, that they were 
pleased to find there v'as a door between their bed-rooms, which 
they had only to open of a morning, to converse together while 
they were dressing. The windows of both apartments opened 
upon a sort of balcony, about which a luxuriant vine clambered, 


304 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


and over which the thatch projected pretty far. To throw these 
windows open, and admit the fragrant air, occasionally even pop- 
ping out on the balcony, and taking a view of the garden and 
the picturesque church -yard fast by it, was a very agreeable mit- 
igation of the troubles of the toilette, a business which, with Mr. 
Primrose particularly, was always a tedious and grave one. On 
the third day of their visit to Underwood, the Doctor and Hya- 
cinth, were dressing as usual, availing themselves of the social 
advantages of their quarters, and discussing Mr. Medlicott’s 
chances and prospects, when Hyacinth, who had stepped out for 
a moment into the open air, suddenly drew back, and with the 
utmost surprise, delight, and curiosity depicted in his counte- 
nance, ran into the Doctor’s room, exclaiming, 

“ Good Heavens, Page ! come here, — see this ! Such an 
animal ! — I had no notion there existed such a creature in the 
whole animal kingdom.” 

Page concluded from the hue and cry that some rhinoceros, 
or ourang-outang, must have escaped from a menagerie in the 
neighbourhood. Hyacinth led him out on the balcony, and 
through the tangled branches of the vine, pointed with his finger 
to an object in the garden, nearly opposite them, which the mo- 
ment the Doctor got a distinct view of, he recognised without the 
least difficulty as his old acquaintance, and the object of his ever- 
lasting aversion — the apothecary. 

“He is more like an exaggerated father-long-legs, than any- 
thing else,” said Primrose. “ Medlicott often tried to describe 
him for me, but in vain ; he beggars description.” 

“ You don’t much admire his exterior,” said the Doctor. 

“ The most ungainly, the ugliest I ever set my eyes on,” said 
Primrose. 

“ There is something uglier, nevertheless,” said the Doctor. 

“What can that be?” said Hyacin.h. 

“His interior,” said the Doctor, a;d then he made Primrose 
acquainted with all that he knew of Pigdwigeon’s antecedents, 
after which Primrose told him of his juvenile performance, enti- 
tled “ The Country Apothecary,” founded entirely upon the ac-. 
count he had received from Reuben, and which had appeared 
with other literary freaks and follies, in the MS. periodical of 
which they had been joint-editors at school. 

“ Has the rogue any local influence in Chichester ?” inquired 
Page, adjusting his green silk carvat, which made a lively con- 
trast with his red waistcoat. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


805 


*‘I fancy he has some,” replied Primrose; * I believe he has 
some interest or share in the ‘ Chichester Mercury I have heard 
something to that effect, — a sleeping partner probably.” 

“ 1 am sorry to hear it,” said the Doctor, “ and I only wish he 
was asleep in reality, just at the present moment, for if he has 
the means of mischief in his power, he is not the man to let 
them lie idle; however, if he is disposed to be troublesome, I’ll 
prepare a composing draught for him, that will keep him quiet 
enough ” 

“We shall have him at breakfast, I presume,” said Prim- 
rose. 

“ N doubt,” said the Doctor, “ but my company won’t im- 
prove his appetite, I promise you.” 

They went down together, and found Mr. and Mrs. Medlicott 
and the apothecary in the parlour. Whatever' business Mr. Pig- 
wklgeon had with the Vicar had been deferred until after break- 
fast ; a postponement proposed by the latter, to which the former 
had made no objection. His visit had surprised Mr. Medlicott 
not a little, for there had been a coolness between him and the 
apothecary for several years, in fact ever since the public meeting 
at Chichester, when the Vicar had good reason to suspect Mr. 
Pigwidgeon had played him false, respecting the publication of 
Reuben’s speech. 

“ Mr.. Pigwidgeon— Dr. Page,” said the Vicar, shrewdly ob- 
serving, as he spoke, the effect of the introduction upon the for- 
mer. It was comic enough, but obviously not the comedy of 
“ The Agreeable Surprise ” to one of the parties, although the 
apothecary did not cower before the Doctor to the degree that 
the latter had led Primrose to expect 

“ Mr. Pigwidgeon and Dr. Page are already acquainted, I be- 
lieve,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 

“ I have the pleasure of knowing Dr. Page,” muttered the 
apothecary, in a low,- dogged tone of voice. 

The Doctor repeated the same formula, only substituting 
“honour” for “pleasure,” with a dry emphasis on the word. 

Mr. Pigwidgeon’s appetite, too, was in much better order 
than Page had predicted, and the Doctor himself had practical 
proof of it, for a cold round of beef stood before him, to which 
the apothecary paid marked attention, utterly regardless of the 
trouble which he gave the carver, upon whom he made repeated 
calls, with the utmost coolness and effrontery. In fact Mr. Pig- 
vidgeon made such a hearty breakfast, that Mr. Primrose began 


306 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


Jo suspect the Doctor had grossly exaggerated the fhws in his 
moral character, if there was any reliance to be placed upon 
Bishop Wyndham’s theory of the connection between a good 
appetite and a clear conscience. 

The Doctor, at length, having thrice helped the apothecary to 
the beef, and being apprehensive of another demand, Bethought 
him of a little stratagem to save himself from further trouble, 
and in pursuance of his scheme began to talk about medical 
reform, maliciously stating that he had heard and believed it 
was the intention of Government to issue a commission to in- 
quire into the management of infirmaries and dispensaries. 

“ And Mr. Pigwidgeon will be glad to hear,” added Page, 
“ that the inquiry is to be retrospective and most searching, prob- 
ing everything to the bottom, sparing nobody, and followed by 
prosecutions in every case of jobbing brought to light.” 

“ PH try another slice of that capital round,” said the apothe- 
cary. 

The Doctor was obliged to drop his own knife and fork, 
which he had just commenced using, and again minister to the 
wants of the imperturbable Mr. Pigwidgeon. 

“ I rejoice,” said the Vicar, “ to hear of the surgeons being 
cut up, and the doctors getting a pill.” 

“ The inquiry will be no joke to some people, you may de- 
pend upon it,” resumed Page, returning to his own plate. 

I’ll trouble you for the mustard, Doctor,” saicl Mr. Pigwid- 
geon again, with inimitable sang froid. 

The Doctor, finding his adversary impregnable, either by 
dint of his impudence or through the vigour of his appetite, said 
no more, but, as the best way of concealing his discomfiture, 
transferred his personalities to the round of beef, while Mrs. 
Medlicott began to talk to the apothecary about his son. 

“ It was a long time,” she said, “ since she had had the 
pleasure of seeing him — she hoped he was attentive to his pro- 
fession.” 

“ Well, I can’t say that he is more attentive than other 
people,” replied the apothecary, very disagreeably. 

“ Humph,” said the Vicar, perceiving the hit at his own son. 

“But I hope he is not idle,” continued Mrs. Medlicott, not as 
sharp as her husband with all her mental superiority. 

“ I suppose if he is not doing one thing he is doing another,” 
said the apothec^’y in the same unpleasant and somewhat mys- 
terious manner 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


307 


* - hope and trust so,” said the lady ; “ I take a great inter- 
op :n your son, indeed I do, Mr. Pigvvidgeon ; and you know 
I always said he had talent- — it only wanted awakening.” She 
touched her forehead as she spoke, to show that she was still as 
great a phrenologist as ever, and knew the precise longitude and 
latitude of all the provinces of the understanding delineated upon 
the globe of the skull. 

“ It is only justice to say, ma’am, that you always did ; and 
time will tell,” answered Mr. Pigwidgeon. 

“At all events,” said Mrs. Medlicott, still further to prove the 
interest she continued to take in Dr. Pigwidgeon, “ he has friends 
to do something for him, — who knows, for instance, but Reuben 
himself may have it in his power to be of use to him one of 
these days ?” 

The apothecary was as proud as he was shabby, and it is 
hard to describe how this most injudicious speech galled him. 
Ee tried to reply, but his voice stuck in his throat, with the irri- 
tation of his feelings. The Vicar, however, who was equally dis- 
pleased for different reasons, came to his relief with a sharp re- 
buke to his wife’s arrogance, telling her that Reuben was just as 
likely to want Dr. Pigwidgeon’s services as Dr. Pigwidgeon to 
want Reuben’s. Mrs. Medlicott was forced, in common polite- 
ness, to admit that this was true; but in doing so, she committed 
herself again by broadly alluding to Reuben’s parliamentary in- 
tentions — the subject, of all others, which she should not have 
touched upon in the presence of the apothecary, the most noto- 
rious gossip in the whole county of Sussex. The Vicar tried to 
give her a little admonitory kick under the table, but he was on 
tin/ opposite side, and his legs were too short to reach her. 

Perhaps Mr. Pigwidgeon did not comprehend the allusion, 
broad as it was ; but whether he did or not, a dry cough was the 
only notice he took of Mrs. Medlicott’s last observation, accom- 
panying it with a request for a final cup of tea. 

The conversation would now have ceased, if it had not sud- 
denlv occurred to Mr. Primrose that he had seen the name of a 
Dr. Pigwidgeon lately mentioned in one of the London news- 
papers in connection with a celebrated Irish borough. He im- 
mediately asked the apothecary whether his Dr. Pigwidgeon was 
identical with the gentleman who was “ up for Blarney.” Never 
did Mrs. Medlicott lay her spectacles down with such nervous 
haste, as she did when the apothecary, glowing with paternal pride, 
and at the same time all shaking with excitement, answered, 


808 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


V 

“ I have the honour, sir, to be father to that gentleman.’’ 

The revelation very naturally surprised everybody. 

“ I trust the news is true,” said the Vicar, frankly and goc .* 
naturedly. 

“ It’s true, and it’s not true,” said the apothecary. % 

“ That’s ar enigma we must beg of you to explain,” said the 
Vicar. 

“ Excuse me,” said Mr. Pigwidgeon. 

“ I was never so amazed in all my life,” said Mrs. Medlicott. 
Everything she said that morning was mal-a-propos as possible. 

“ I see nothing so amazing in my son coming into Parlia- 
ment, Madam,” said the apothecary regarding her bitterly and 
speaking in a sort of slow growl. 

“ Nothing whatever,” said the Vicar, heartily ; “your son is 
a very eloquent man, we all know, and I don’t see why he should 
bury his talent more than anybody else.” 

Mi's. Medlicott hastened to say something to the same effect 
(for, in truth, she had still some sparks left of her old intel- 
lectual tendresse for Theodore, and was pleased as well as aston- 
ished at what she had heard), but it was too late ; the apothe- 
cary rose from the table, and after taking a profusion of snuff, 
followed the Vicar into his study to discuss the business, what- 
ever it was, that brought him to the Vicarage that morning. 

Page proposed a cigar to Primrose under the walnut-tree, 
and the proposition was gladly accepted, particularly as a mode 
of escape from Mrs. Medlicott, who, if she had ceased twaddling 
about politics, would have infallibly commenced twaddling about 
something else. 

“Well, what do you think of Mr. Pigwidgeon ?” said the 
Doctor, lighting his Havana. 

“ He is a man,” said Mr. Primrose, “ take him for all in all, I 
trust I shall never see his like again. Can it be possible he is 
rich, he looks such a miserably poor devil ?” 

“ A devil, but anything but a poor one,” said Page. 

“ What puts borough-mongering in the head of such a man 
as that?” said Hyacinth ; “ I thought it was too high a species of 
jobbing for so low a fellow.” 

“ I’ll tell you,” said the Doctor ; “ it is {he only description 
of knavery he has not yet practised, and he wants to be perfect 
in every branch of the art.” 

It was a short colloquy, for it ended here. Before the half 
of their cigars was turned into smoke and ashes, they saw tho 


OR, THE COMING M fcN. 


•309 

apothecary sneaking off through a door in the hedge ; and the 
Vicar rejoined them, puffing and blowing. Short as his inter- 
view had been with his visitor, it was evident something had oc* 
curred at once surprising and vexatious, and his friends were not 
long in ignorance of the truth. 

“ A pretty kettle of fish,” quoth the Vicar, panting. It may 
have been remarked that this was a favourite phrase of his. 

“ What’s the matter ?” asked the Doctor. 

u Why, that booby of a son of his is not going to stand for 
Blarney, after all,” replied the Vicar, still out of breath. 

“ What is that to you, or to me ?” said Page. 

“ But he is going to stand for Chichester — for Chichester 
against Reuben,” said the Vicar, almost in a scream, and staring 
at the Doctor energetically. 

“No I” — cried Page — “you don’t say so ! — that’s too good.” 

“ He came to solicit my vote and interest — he came to can- 
vass me, sjr.” N 

“ In earnest cried Page. 

“ Perfectly in earnest, and they are in the field before us, let 
me tell you ; here’s Dr. Pigwidgeon’s address to the electors, 
actually in print,” and he pulled out of his pocket as he spoke, a 
printed hand-bill, with which the apothecary had just presented 
him. 

“ And Parliament was dissolved yesterday, and the writ will 
be down before you can say Jack Robinson,” continued Mr. 
Medlicott, recollecting by degrees all he had heard. 

Doctor Page now jumped up, uttering a variety of exclama- 
tions, mingled with a few oaths of no very profane character, but 
mostly appeals to “ Jove and Jingo,” “ Lord Harry,” and “ All 
that’s lovely ending by vigorously buttoning his coat, and 
heartily abusing the Vicar, Mr. Primrose, himself, and everybody, 
for passing their time lounging in the garden, smoking cigars, 
and chatting about a worthless old raven, when so much was to 
be done, and there was so little time to do it in. 

“ My wife was right, after all,” said the Vicar, looking a little 
ashamed of himself. 

“ By the Lord Harry, she was, sir,” said the Doctor. 

“ Here comes the lady herself,” said Primrose. 

“ That’s always the case with my wife,” said the Vicar, u the 
moment she is mentioned she is sure to appear.” 

The news struck Mrs. Medlicott like a thunderbolt, and after 
inveighing agamst the ingratitude and presumption of her old 


310 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS \ 


pupil, in the strongest terms permissible to a woman’s lips, she 
vented all the indignation she had remaining upon her husband, 
and by implication upon his friends, for being so remiss while 
the foe was so active. 

“ Well, Madam, we shall do better in future,” said the 
Doctor. 

“ Indeed I hope so, Dr. Page,” said Mrs. Medlicott, rather 
imperiously, “ there is work for everybody — I was at mine early 
this morning. Here is an address which I have written for 
Reuben ; — you never thought of this, I venture to say, Mr. 
Medlicott.” 

The Vicar stood aghast at the woman’s presumption, while 
the Doctor and Mr. Primrose furtively exchanged looks of nearly 
equal alarm, well justified by the very bulk of the papers Mrs. 
Medlicott held in her hand, big enough, in fact, to be the manu- 
script of a pamphlet. 

It was hard to know what to say, or what to do. The Vicar 
shrugged his shoulders, said the address was the most ticklish 
thing of all, and thought it ought to be left to Reuben himself, 
who would probably arrive in the course of the evening. Fortu- 
nately he got into an altercation with his wife upon this point, 
which enabled the Doctor and Mr. Primrose to consult together 
aside, as to the best course to take in the emergency, when they 
wisely resolved to accept the lady’s composition', with as many 
compliments to its excellence as they could bestow, and having 
thus got it into their hands for instant publication, to slash it and 
hash it at their discretion, throwing all the blame upon somebody 
or another with sufficiently broad shoulders, Mr. Cox, for example, 
whose munificent subscription might seem to entitle him to take 
a liberty of the kind. 

This course was, accordingly, adopted ; Mr. Primrose took 
upon him the task of eulogising the address, which he did with 
no economy of flattering expressions ; after which, the three men 
of the party got into the Doctor’s little open carriage (the same 
old machine that had made the tour of Wales), and, at a rapid, 
electioneering pace, drovs into the city. 


OR. THE COMING MAN. 


811 


CHAPTER VII. 

ME. MEDLICOTT RECEIVES TIIE DEPUTATION. 

There was never perhaps a queerer embassy than that which the 
liberal and enlightened electors of Chichester sent up to London, 
to overcome the modest reluctance of Mr. Reuben Medlicott to 
represent them in the British Parliament. With Mr. Broad, the 
head and front of the embassy, we are well acquainted already. 
Alderman Codd was almost as fat as he was facile, and Alderman 
Gosling, the third, was considered a droll fellow in his corpora- 
tion, a character which he sustained chiefly by puns and jokes 
upon his own not inappropriate name. This last worthy was 
accompanied by his son, a lad of some twelve years’ pith, one of 
Mr. Medlicott’s numerous godsons, and a Reuben into the bar- 
gain. The Alderman thought the present opportunity a good 
one to introduce this hopeful youth to the notice of his illustrious 
sponsor, and, to make him worthy to appear in such a presence, 
he had clothed him from head to foot in a new suit of sky-blue, 
which, decorated with a profusion of conical silver buttons, formed 
a very imposing holiday costume. 

Mr. Medlicott had no fixed residence in the metropolis at this 
period, but led a sort of oscillating life, as became a man of ge- 
nius, and suited a man of his circumstances, occasionally taking 
advantage of Lord Maudlin’s house when he was out of town, 
but generally moving back and forwards between Mr. Trevor’s 
convenient box at Hampstead and Friend Harvey’s accommodat- 
ing house in Gracechurch-street. Fortunately for the dignity of 
the present occasion, he happened to be quartered at Maudlin 
House in Cavendish-square, when Mr. Broad and his colleagues 
arrived to lay the representation of Chichester at his feet. 

Poor Mary Medlicott, anxious as she was about what was 
going on, was in no condition at the time to take a very active 
part "in the preparations to receive the embassy. There were 
palpable grounds for believing that she would soon present her 
husband with a third pledge of their mutual affection ; a male it 
was devoutly hoped, to inherit the father’s talents, and perpetuate 
his name and blood. 

But Reuben was in no want of friends far more competent 
than his wife to lend him the sort of assistance he wante^ in the 
preset 1 circumstances. He was now living on terms more inti- 


512 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


mate than was perfectly discreet, with his old acquaintance 
Adolphe, and his charming and clever sister, Mrs. Ckattertev 
The former had long since given up all his mechanical and me} 
cantile speculations, and the latter had been for some time sepa- 
rated from her husband, the Professor. Brother and sister now 
went by the name of Monsieur and Madame Beauvoisin, and 
were proposing a great many ingenious plans for the future, the 
favourite one being to establish a Musical Academy at Chichester, 
under the patronage of Mr. Medlicott, which naturally made them 
take the liveliest interest in all that was now going forward. 

It was Madame Beauvoisin who arranged the largest of the 
drawing-rooms for the present occasion. A gilt chair was placed 
for Reuben at the top of the room, flanked with sofas and couches 
for the members of his family and such of his friends as might 
wish to be present ; in the middle space was a table strewed with 
blue books brought up from my Lord’s library, and supporting 
also a plate of oranges for the speakers, while beneath the table 
were set three chairs for the gentlemen composing the deputation. 

Mr. Medlicott, always attentive to dress, as well as address, 
took his usual pains on that important day to appear as capti- 
vating as possible in the sight of his townsmen and acquaint- 
ance. It was about this period of his life he adopted the par- 
ticular costume from which he rarely deviated afterwards, except 
for the short interval of his total amalgamation with the Quak- 
ers, hereafter to be recorded. This was a light-brown body-coat, 
with gilt buttons, white waistcoat, light drab or pearl-coloured, 
trousers, and a blue silk cravat ; all rather flowing and ample, 
as if his taste for looseness and prolixity had extended from his 
mind to his apparel. A gold watch-chain with a bunch of seals 
hung from his fob ; and a superb cluster of flowers, such as 
were then in season, completed as usual the decoration of his 
person. 

Thus armed at all points for civil conquest, burnished like a 
mirror, perfumed like a garden, radiant with satisfaction, and a lit- 
tle swollen with importance, he decended from his dressing-room 
about half-an-hour before the time appointed ; turned over his 
private collections of similes and metaphors, selecting a few for 
the occasion, and then taking his flageolet (which had been much 
in request since his marriage), he threw himself with “artless 
heed” on a pile of cushions, and surrounded by the fair Louise, 
as useful as she was charming, his adoring wife, and his crowing 
progeny, tricked out with enormous blue sashes, he regaled 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


313 


them vzitli a succession of the old melodies which he had learned 
under the shadow of the great square tower of Hereford 
-Cathedral. In the interval between two tunes, Madame Beau- 
voisin, not quite approving of the disposition of his hair, pro- 
duced a little ivory comb from her pocket, and improved its ar- 
rangement with a coquettish touch or two of her old art, while 
his wife inquired if the interview with the deputies would occupy 
much time. 

“ I should say very little, my dear,” replied Reuben, “ if peo- 
ple will only abstain from speechifying. The deputation has 
only to ask me a simple question. I have only to return a plain 
answer, — perhaps make a remark. Including the collation, 
I cannot conceive the whole affair occupying more than one 
hour.” 

“ Then we shall have our drive round the Regent’s Park 
before dinner,” said Mary. 

“By all means,” replied her husband, and, resuming* tta 
instrument, he was playing another lively air, in the attitude of 
a shepherd on a bank, in a picture of the “ learned Poussin’s,” 
when the door was thrown open and a servant announced Mr. 
Trevor, the law-bookseller, Mr. Fox, the proctor, Mr. Rey- 
nard, the attorney, and these were soon followed by Mrs. 
Mountjoy with several of the old habitues of Burlington 
Gardens, including Mr. Bavard and Captain Shunfield. 

You may fancy how the pompous arrangement of so fine 
an apartment, the display of the blue books, such a charming 
group of lovely women and rosy children, and the showy figure 
of the rising statesman in the centre of it, like a diamond sur- 
rounded with rubies, must have affected the imaginations and 
dazzled the eyes of the beholders. The proctor, when he was 
able to speak, made a clumsy attempt to compliment Mr. Med- 
licott upon his combination of graceful accomplishments with 
talents of the highest order. 

“ Ah,” replied Reuben, quickly availing himself of one of his 
cut-and-dry classical allusions, “I am, unhappily, a contrast to 
Themistocles ; I can fiddle, which he could not, but I cannot 
make a small town a great city, as he could.” He handed, as 
he spoke, the flageolet to his wife’s maid to lay it aside, and the 
air with which he performed this little action was well calcu- 
lated to throw considerable doubt upon the sincerity of the dis- 
claimer. 

“ Pardon me, sir, but you are the very man to do both,” 
14 


314 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


returned the proctor, “I am sure if you had only practised 
Doctors’ Commons ” 

“ I am reminded,” said Mr. Bavard, who came to the meet- 
ing in a spirit of malicious curiosity, among other improper 
motives, “of a remark of Bacon’s on the subject in question; 
there are many, he says, who can fiddle well enough, but are 
so far from being able to make a small town a great one, that 
their gift lies the other way, to bring a great town to ruin. I 
don’t mean, of course, to insinuate that Mr. Medlicott possesses 
that description of talent ; but to be sure nobody knows what 
any man can do until he is tried. I remember an anecdote ” 

But an influx of Quakers just at the moment took the para- 
ble out of Mr. Bavard’s mouth before be could utter another sylla- 
ble. Friend Harvey led the way, or rather came rushing in. 
as brown as a berry, all but his hat, and as brisk as any bee, his 
smooth oval face glowing with enthusiasm, one hand employed 
pulling out his watch, the other full of tracts and pamphlets, 
which proved to be all copies of Reuben’s speech on capital 
punishment, and his eloquent defence of the Meeting. Harvey 
was followed by Friend Wilson, his opposite neighbour, and the 
solemnest of his sect, at whose heels came Jonas and Samuel 
Harvey, the former with his mouth wider open than ever, but 
both looking like malefactors, they were so amazed by all that 
they saw. Then there was Isaac Hopkins, a Smyrna merchant, 
in full fig; Joshua Hopkins, his brother, a brewer of Bermond- 
sey ; and two or three exceedingly drab and dreary Quaker- 
esses, whose harsh and forbidding countenances showed that 
they had not yet in their hearts forgiven our poor Mary for 
deserting the Meeting, though outwardly reconciled to her, in 
gratitude for her husband’s services, and probably with hopes of 
further advantages from his genius. 

Friend Harvey had not been in the room for five minutes 
before his extraordinary zeal and indefatigable activity gave him 
a kind of ascendancy over the rest of the company. Mr. Trevor 
had intended to be the most prominent of Reuben’s supporters ; 
Mr. Reynard, the attorney, had also contemplated taking the 
lead, and so had the secretary of the Polish Association, who 
considered himself, quite at home in Lord Maudlin’s house ; but 
nothing could stand before the restless energy of Harvey ; he 
constituted himself secretary, had a string of resolutions ready 
prepared, cut up the oranges, sprinkled all the room over witn 
his tracts, elbowed Mr. Bavard without the least ceremony, told 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


815 


Friend Trevor, his brother bookseller, to make himself useful, 
and stationed his two gaping sons at a window to proclaim the 
arrival of the deputation at the hall-door. 

The Quakers, being all pinks of punctuality, kept looking at 
their watches incessantly, and, indeed, the moment was almost 
come for Mr. Broad and his colleagues to make their appear- 
ance. There was very little occasion for alarm on that score. 
Mr. Broad had his heart and soul in the business of the day as 
much as Friend Harvey himself ; he had the old “ Black Lion” 
in a ferment the whole morning about a respectable coach for 
the occasion, and after holding forth on the dignity and import- 
ance of his mission, to the vast astonishment of the coffee-room, 
he sallied forth to have his hair dressed and powdered by a Lon- 
don hair-cutter, and insisted upon the tw'o Aldermen having 
their wise noddles dressed also, — nay, while the operator had 
him in hand, the excited little cutler could not refrain from go- 
ing over the whole story again of his business in town, which 
made the hair-dresser feel that he was exercising his talents on 
the head of a personage of no little weight in the political 
world. 

“Broad,” said Alderman Codd, as they left the shop, to step 
into the coach, which had been brought to the door for them, 
“Broad, you have out-talked the barber.” 

“ You won’t have a word in you, when the talk is wanted,” 
said Alderman Gosling. 

“ You must take my place, Alderman,” said Broad. 

Here the coachman inquired where he w r as to drive their 
worships, for having heard the word alderman, he concluded they 
were all personages of the same municipal rank and dignity. 

“ To the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Maudlin’s,” said 
Mr. Broad, “ with whom my illustrious townsman Mr. Medlicott 
is on a visit.” 

“ Where does his Lordship live, please your worships f” 

“ You ought to be ashamed to ask such a question,” replied 
Mr. Broad ; “ in Cavendish square, to be sure, sir.” 

“ Your worship doesn’t happen to know the number of the 
house ?” 

“ House, sir ! — it’s not a house, it’s a mansion ; — drive us to 
Cavendish-square ; I don’t suppose there will be much difficulty 
in finding the mansion of the Right Honourable Lord Viscount 
Maudlin.” 

“ You are going to the house of a Viscount, think of that, 


316 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


boy,” said Alderman Codd to Master Reuben Gosling, the youth 
in the sky-blue suit. 

“ Is godfather a Viscount ?” said the hoy. 

“ Not quite so great as all that,” said his sire. 

“ Your godfather, boy, is a statesman and an orator,” said Mr. 
Broad, “ which is much greater than any Viscount. Wait till 
you hear your godfather talk.” 

“ He talked for you when you could not talk for yourself,” 
said Alderman Gosling, chucking his son under the chin, and 
laughing at his own wit. 

There was no difficulty in finding Lord Maudlin's house. 
Directly the coach drove up to the door, the young Quaker book- 
sellers announced the event with a simultaneous shout. 

“ Friends will be so kind as to take their places,” cried Har- 
vey himself; and not content with making this request, which 
indeed was in the tone of a command, he actually forced several 
people to sit down who were disposed to remain standing. 
Among those on whom he exercised this compulsion was the gal- 
lant Captain Shunfield, and so little did Harvey care where the 
Captain sat, provided he was seated, that he wedged him in be- 
tween the two grim and sour old Quakeresses upon a sofa, who 
were scandalised beyond measure by finding themselves in ac- 
tual contact with a dragoon, little dreaming that he was in truth 
as peaceful a personage as any in the room. The Captain on his 
part looked grim enough also, and twisted his moustache with 
considerable ferocity ; but like everybody else he succumbed to 
Friend Harvey, and kept his uncomfortable seat most submissive- 
ly to the close of the proceedings. 

Hard it is to say which sight was better worth seeing, Mr. Med- 
licott when he took the gilt chair at the top of the table with the 
oranges and blue books, or Mr. Broad when he marched in with 
his fidgetty strut (something between the magpie and the pea- 
cock), and suddenly found himself in the presence of a larger 
assembly than he had reckoned on, including so many ladies, to 
make his situation the more embarrassing. There was not much 
room for the ludicrous evolutions with which he usually made 
his bows ; but he turned the space he had to the best account, 
and diverted exceedingly everybody who had the least eye for 
the ridiculous. Ushered by Friend Harvey, he took the middle 
place at the bottom of the table ; the Aldermen supported him 
on each side, staring like stuck pigs, as the vulgar saying is, and 
no chair being provided tor Master Reuben Gosling, Harvey soon 


817 


OR. THE COMING MAN. 

disposed of that young gentleman, by assigni: g him a place on 
the same chair with Mr Bayard, who soon assigned him to a seat 
on the ground almost at Mr. Medlicott’s feet. 

These arrangements having been made, Friend Harvey ap- 
proached the table, and standing bolt upright, and addressing 
Reuben, in tones to which his nose contributed more than was 
pleasant to the ear, said — 

“ Friend Medlicott, it now becomes my duty to acquaint thee 
that a deputation of thy most distinguished townsmen (here Mr. 
Broad bowed) has the honour of waiting upon thee, for objects 
and purposes which they will explain with far more circumlocu- 
tion than it would become me to do ; they will address thee one 
after the other, and from all I have heard, I think the lovers of 
eloquence and friends of humanity will have a rare treat.” 

This most unauthorised programme made the three deputies 
twice as nervous and fidgetty as they were already disposed to 
be; a mutual elbowing, whispering, nodding, and winking took 
place, which ended in the Aldermen joining to push Mr Broad 
forward, as it had all along been settled that he should be spokes- 
man. 

Considering that everybody present perfectly well knew what 
Mr. Broad had got to say, before he opened his lips, the speech 
that he made answered its purpose to admiration. Had the ob- 
ject of his mission not been previously understood, it is very 
questionable if his speech would have thrown much light upon it ; 
for never having addressed a dozen people before, and being almost 
completely overwhelmed by the combined effect of the splendid 
mansion, the presence of the fair sex, and more than all by the pre- 
mature compliments paid to his eloquence, he lost his voice almost 
completely, and the train of his thoughts, such as they were, along 
with it. In short, after stammering for five minutes, the only au- 
dible w r ords being “ reform,” “ Poland,” “ Chichester,” and “ my 
elc ,u3nt and distinguished townsman,” the poor little cutler sat 
down, with no great reason to be pleased with his performance, 
except that it called forth as loud plaudits as if it had been 
made by the best speaker of the day. 

“ Vox faucibus hcesit ,” said the Proctor, aside, to Mr. Bavard. 
It was a scrap of Latin he had probably picked up from Dr. 
Lushington. 

“The beginning of the line is equally applicable,” said Ba- 
vard, “ steteruntque comce ,” and truly so it was, for Mr. Broad’s 
well-powdered hair, which he always wore brushed up to the 


318 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


shape of a cone, being now fresh from the ban. Is of the hair- 
cutter, stood straight up on his head like nothing so much as a 
sharp alpine peak, to which we compared it on a former occasion. 

Friend Harvey worked hard to get speeches from Alderman 
Codd and Gosling. The former, indeed, got on his legs, but it 
was only to say that “ he endorsed Mr. Broad’s bill a shoH 
speech, but an energetic one, particularly as he closed it (by way 
of peroration) with a thump on the table which nearly broke it, 
and sent the oranges rolling about the floor ; at the same time 
he resumed his chair with so heavy a plump that it went nearly 
to pieces under him, being one of French manufacture, and ill- 
suited to the weight of an English Alderman. No one but 
Friend Harvey was much displeased by these little interruptions, 
which were rather of a pleasant nature. To one person present 
they were even propitious, for the son of Alderman Gosling, hav- 
ing been very active in picking up the oranges, attracted Mr. 
Medlicott’s attention, and had the honour of having his head pat- 
ted and being asked at the same time what was his name. The 
boy was ready enough to answer, and not only told his name, 
but the sort of moral relationship in which he stood to his emi- 
nent namesake. 

“ I believe,” said Mr. Medlicott, most graciously smiling, “ I 
have a great many young namesakes in and about Chichester.” 

“ Two Reuben Medlicotts and three plain Reubens,” answered 
the youth as glibly as possible. 

Mr. Medlicott again patted his head, and told him he would 
not forget him. 

“ That boy’s bread is baked,” said Mr. Broad, aside, to the 
elder Gosling, who had been most anxiously watching what 
passed. 

At the same moment the o\her Alderman was provided with 
a stouter chair, and Mr. Medlicott, with one hand'on his breast, 
and the other upon one of the blue books, the very picture M 
the dawning statesman, rose to make a few observations.” 



OR, THE COMING MAN. 


319 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MR. MEDLICOTT GIVES HIS FRIENDS A TREAT. 

u Will you stand for Chichester, Mr. Medlicott?” was (lie plain 
question put to him, and a “yes,” or a “no,” would have been, 
to all intents and purposes, a sufficient answer to it. But his 
zealous and admiring friends had not assembled in such force, 
to be put off with a monosyllabic oration ; and the Quakers es- 
pecially (albeit a sect whose communications are yea and nay), 
would have been offended by an affectation of brevity upon the pres- 
ent occasion. In fact everybody present, except Mr. Bavard, came 
expressly for what friend Harvey called “ a treat and as neither 
the speech of Mr. Broad, nor that of the Alderman, could well 
be considered in that light, it became the more incumbent upon 
Mr. Medlicott to satisfy the cravings of the little meeting. It 
was not two o’clock when he commenced his palaver, and it was 
past four when he had done : nor will it be thought in the least 
surprising that he spoke at such great length, when the number of 
topics is considered which he was either expected, or thought it his 
duty, to handle ; embracing most questions of foreign and domestic 
policy, the vast circle of human interests, and every project of 
reform that ever was broached. We hope to be pardoned for 
declining to give the speech in extenso. There is some danger 
of even an abstract being voted tiresome ; but as it seems indis- 
pensable to give the reader a specimen of Mr. Medlicott’s mode 
of proceeding, when he rose to offer a simple remark, or make 
a few short observations, we must run the risk, great as it is. 
He commenced with a broad view (an exceedingly broad one) of 
the British constitution ; then he discussed the onerous duties 
and awful responsibilities of a member of parliament; from 
which he proceeded to the serious inquiry whether he possessed 
the proper intellectual, moral, and physical qualifications for a 
trust of such magnitude and importance, seeming at first to be 
of opinion that it was far beyond his strength and abilities, but 
eventually comforting his friends by coming round to the conclu- 
sion that, under all the circumstances of the case, even his poor 
talents might b§ acceptable to his country. Sometimes he shrank 
from the task he was called on to perform ; but then again, w r as 
it for him to set up his weak judgment against the public, if the 
public thought fit to command his se: vices? Vox pojpuli vox 


S20 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS,* 

Dei, he continued, looking at Alderman Gosling, who nodded 
as if he understood what that meant; and having delivered 
this oracular sentence, he thought it his duty to state, very 
briefly of course, his opinions and sentiments on all the leading 
questions of the day. It was unnecessary to assure his friend, 
Mr. Broad, that he was unalterably attached to the cause of 
Poland, and eternally hostile to the power of Russia. He felt 
honoured and gratified by the cordial cheer with which that 
worthy gentleman bore witness to the strength and sincerity of 
his feelings upon that subject: in fact, he could only do perfect 
justice to those feelings by protesting that his hatred of the Czar 
amounted to a personal animosity. But he could not consent to 
confine his views to Muscovy ; he begged to be allowed to 
spread his mind over the whole terraqueous globe — 

“Let Observation, ,/ith extended view. 

Survey the world from India to Peru.” 


He was sure his excellent friend Mr. Harvey would not quarrel 
with him for that, nor his friends, the Messrs. Hopkins, whose 
enterprising benevolence was known and felt wherever the name 
of England had penetrated, — 

“Whatever clime the sun’s bright circle warms.” 


Were they not all profoundly interested in the politics of our 
Indian .empire? who was unconcerned in the welfare of the 
great Australian continent? who did not love the KafRr as his 
kinsman ? who did not yearn to the New Zealander as his 
brother ? He knew how his words touched all their hearts ; he 
saw how they particularly touched his fair hearers (meaning the 
grim old Quakeresses to whom he had especially directed them). 
What course, then, ought a public man to take ? What, in fact, 
did “foreign pobtics” mean ? He would answer in one word, 
and that word was sympathy ! He had touched another chord 
of the harp of feeling, another string of that divine instrument, 
the human heart, which heaven itself had tuned, “more musical 
than is Apollo’s lute — alas, that he was not a Wilberforce, or 
a Burke, to touch it worthily, to bring forth a'l its sweetness, 


Untwisting all the chords that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


321 


While Mr. Medlicott was making these happy and beautiful al- 
lusions to melody (most of them extracted that morning from 
his common-place book), his wife had found it extremely difficult 
to keep the yearling in her arms as quiet and mute as the 
gravity of the occasion required. The child (fortunately a good- 
humoured and deserving little creature) was continually stretch- 
ing out its arms, as if to catch Reuben’s as they winnowed the 
air, at the same time crowing as if it actually desired to concur 
in the compliments which the deputies and the Quakers paid to 
almost every sentence. Mary was at length about to retire with 
her infant, when the felicitous idea occurred to Reuben to take 
it out of her hands, and continue his speech with the child in 
his arms, which he did with such a mixture of parental tenderness 
and statesman-like dignity, that it drew forth louder plaudits 
than he had yet been honoured with. Of course, he had now 
only one hand at liberty, but he sawed the air with that suffi- 
ciently, and now began to roam through a wilderness of topics, 
where, if we were to attempt to follow him, we should infallibly 
lose our way, as he did himself more than once during his ram- 
bles. Probably it was of little consequence in what order the 
topics were disposed ; but Mr. Medlicott was never much of a 
martinet in the point of logical discipline called method, and 
the remainder of his address was literally nothing but a mob of 
circumlocutions about the various questions which he knew were 
uppermost in the thoughts of his friends. He knew Mr. Trevor 
was anxious about the law of copyright ; he expatiated accord- 
ingly for ten minntes on that subject. To please Isaac Hopkins 
he was prolix on temperance for a quarter of an hour. To 
gratify the Proctor he went to an unnecessary length into the 
abuses of the common law, and then to compensate the Attor- 
ney, he held forth with equal superfluity upon the reform of the 
ecclesiastical courts, after all which he unluckily caught the fanat- 
ical eye of Friend Wilson who was the president of a Peace 
Society ; and his ideas rushing forthwith into that new train, off 
he went at a tangent, dashing into the Horse Guards, de- 
molishing the army estimates, and inveighing against iron and 
saltpetre, very much in the belligerent strain of Mr. Cobden at 
the present day, and nothing daunted by the presence of Cap- 
tain Shunfield, who, to do him justice, took the assault upon the 
profession of arms in the utmost good humour, though the old 
Quakeresses were afraid that he would draw his sword every 
instant. 


14 * 


322 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ) 


The speech came to an end at last, — all things do, all things 
must, and the law must be an inexorable one, or the genius of 
Reuben Medlicott would not have submitted to it. The moment 
he ceased, Alderman Codd jumped up to ask a question about 
the National Debt, but Mr. Broad pulled him down, and for sc 
doinsr well deserved the thanks of the meeting. The othei 
Alderman, however, Mr. Gosling, managed to get in a word, and 
a very sensible one it was. 

“ He begged to know whether Mr. Medlicott did or did not 
accept the invitation ; for though he had paid his eloquent 
speech the greatest attention, he had heard nothing distinct upon 
that which was the main point.” 

“ I must say,” said Mr. Bavard, maliciously supporting the 
Alderman, “I never heard a more admirable speech than my 
eloquent friend has made upon every subject in the world ex- 
cept the question at issue.” 

Mr. Broad was furious at this, and exclaimed that he had 
never heard anything more explicit than the language of his 
distinguished townsman. Friend Harvey was also most indig- 
nant. Friend Wilson concurred with Alderman Gosling. The 
Proctor and the Attorney differed as usual. All spoke at once, 
while Mr. Medlicott, piqued at the nature of the dispute, (involv- 
ing as it did an unpleasant criticism upon his display,) pre- 
served a dignified and sarcastic silence. At length, after a little 
tumult for five minutes, Mr. Trevor made the shrewd suggestion 
that one word from the learned gentleman himself would settle 
the question. 

“ Yes, or no,” he said, addressing Mr. Medlicott. 

“ Yea, or nay,” said Friend Wilson, with a deep, hollow 
voice, as if it issued from the jaws of a sepulchre. 

Reuben looked at neither of the speakers, but rising again 
with much state, addressed himself to Mr. Broad, and said, “ he 
thought he had explained himself sufficiently ; if he had not, he 
was sorry for it ; but he begged now to assure that gentleman 
that he wanted words to thank his friends at Chichester 
for the honour they had done him, and he would. take the 
earliest opportunity of waiting on the electors and canvassing 
them in person.” 

“ Now, Alderman, I hope you are satisfied,” said Mr. Broad, 
accosting his colleague triumphantly. 

“You ought to have held your tongue, brother,” said the 
other Alderman, “if it was only for your son’s sake.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


823 


“I believe I was a goose,” said Gosling. 

A collation followed, and Mr. Medlicott appearing to be ex- 
hausted by his effort, one of the old Quakeresses addressed him 
and said — 

“Friend Reuben, thou needest the refreshment of repose 
more than thy victuals ; if thou wilt take my advice thou wilt 
go to thy chamber and take a lay.” 

His wdfe explained to him afterwards that, “taking a lay” 
meant, in Quaker phraseology, stretching one’s-self on the bed 
without undressing, the common practice of the Society of Friends 
at their great anniversaries, in the intervals between their morn- 
ing and afternoon Meetings ; the Jacobs and Obadiahs, moved by 
the spirit of drowsiness, retiring to one side of the corridor, and 
the Rachels and Hannahs seceding to the other. 

Mr. Medlicott, however, remained to do the honours of his 
feast, which was extremely acceptable to everybody after so 
much speaking. A very industrious hour was spent over the 
viands, and it was nearly six o’clock before the majority of the 
guests dispersed. The deputies lingered after the rest, and so 
did Friend Harvey, Mr. Trevor and Mr. Reynard. They lingered, 
however, for practical objects, although the bottle ■went round 
while they were discussing them. One of the objects was se- 
cured by the obliging and handsome manner in which Mr. Rey- 
nard undertook to conduct the election, in the capacity of Mr. 
Medlicott’s law agent. This, however, it is to be observed, to 
the cred't of the solicitor’s sagacity, he did not do until he was 
informed by Mr. Broad that upwards of three thousand pounds 
had been raised, and was actually forthcoming, if necessary, to 
secure the return. 

Reuben said, he knew nothing of the expenses of elections ; 
but since the subject had been mentioned, he might as well take 
that opportunity of stating most distinctly, that he intended to 
, represent the city of Chichester, and not his own, or any other 
I man’s pocket. He begged the deputies to take a note of what 
he said ; — there must be no bribery — no treating — and no intim- 
:j idation. He would only stand upon these three conditions. 

“In regard to bribery,” said Reynard, addressing Reuben, 
| “you may be perfectly satisfied, sir, if I have the management 
| of the election, there will be nothing of that sort. The name of 
| Reynard is, I hope and trust, security enough in itself that every- 
; thing done under his direction will be done honourably and 
! above-board.” 


324 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


“ If I might presume to advise thee, friend Reuben,” said 
Harvey, “ I would say thou shouldst start for Chichester thyself, 
at thy earliest convenience.” 

“ By all means,” said Reynard, “ the sooner the better. Man- 
age a public entry, if you can, in an open carriage. Address the 
mob from the box, and leave everything else to Mr. Broad and 
me.” 

Mr. Broad said he was entirely at Mr. Reynard’s disposal, and 
he would say the same for his colleagues, the Aldermen: 

“ The Aldermen ought to go down, this very night,” said 
Reynard, “ to convey Mr. Medlicott’s determination to the con- 
stituency, and order the flags, music, and all that sort of thing.” 

The Aldermen looked at one another, and seemed disconcerted. 

“ The fact is,” said Alderman Codd, “ my brother and I are 
invited to-morrow to a grand feast at Fishmongers’ Hall, to meet 
the Lord Mayor of London.” 

“ That,” said Mr. Reynard, “ may be done by proxy.” 

The Aldermen evidently disliked the notion of dining -with 
the Fishmongers by proxy, and Mr. Medlicott, observing their 
perplexity, said he should be extremely sorry if his worthy friends 
were put to any inconvenience upon his account. 

“ By the bye,” he added, addressing Alderman Gosling, “ I 
am greatly taken with that fine boy of yours. Judging from his 
answers to some questions I put to him, I should say he has a 
decided talent for social statistics. Make him mind his arith- 
metic. I may yet be in a position to serve him.” 

This well-timed hit made Gosling his own for ever. He 
cheerfully sacrificed turtle and venison, setting a bright example 
to his brother Alderman, which the latter did not fail to follow ; 
and after drinking a final bumper to the toast of Medlicott and 
universal philanthropy, the municipal dignitaries took leave of 
their host, and hurried away to be in time for the mail. 

The rest of the company soon dispersed. The solicitor and 
Mr. Broad walked away arm-in-arm. The former was anxious 
to collect from the latter as much information about local politics 
as he could procure, and he was further desirous of having some 
portion of the three thousand pounds lodged in his own hands 
with the least possible delay. 

“ I must have a few hundreds this evening, or very early to- 
morrow,” said Reynard. 

“ We had better go to friend Harvey’s,” said the catler. 
(< The Quakers (to their credit be it spoken) are greatly interested 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 325 

i- the election, and have undertaken to advance a large sura, 
should money be wanting.” 

“ Money will be wanting, let me tell you,” said Mr. Reynard. 

u Five or six hundred pounds will cover everything, won’t 
it ?” said the other. 

“ The Quakers you say,” said Reynard, instead of directly 
answering the question, “ are interested in Mr. Medlicott’s 
election ?” 

“ Interested, sir — to be sure they are — everybody is inter- 
ested ! Did you ever see such an important meeting ? Did you 
ever hear such a wonderful speech? Why, sir, it will be a great 
era in English history, Mr. Medlicott coming into Parliament. It 
will change the face of the world.” 

“ The thing must be done, cost what it may,” said Reynard. 

“ Cost what it may, sir,” said Broad, energetically ; “ at all 
sacrifices and risks.” 

“ Nobody has a greater respect for purity, or a livelier horror 
of corruption in every shape, than the man who is now talking 
to you,” said Reynard ; “ but I’ll tell you a maxim of mine, ever 
since I began to practise this branch of my profession. If a man 
is going to dine with a friend, and if there’s no way to his house 
but through a dirty lane, he takes the dirty lane.” 

“ He does, sir,” said Broad, “ of course he does.” 

“ Or he would lose his dinner,” added the Attorney. 

“ Nobody likes that,” said Broad. 

“ I have no reason to think Chichester a particularly dirty 
place,” said Reynard, “ but I don’t know as much about it as 
you do.” 

“ It is not a particularly dirty place, I’ll say that for it,” re- 
plied the cutler, “ but there are dirty people in Chichester, let me 
tell you, and dirty people that have votes, sir.” 

“ The votes of dirty people count for as much as the votes of 
clean people at an election,” said Mr. Reynard. 

“ That’s a just observation,” said Mr. Broad. 

“ And the upshot is, that we must have the money, Broad, 
or we can’t make sure of returning our man. We must have the 
money, and we must spend the money ; when a great object is 
to be carried, it won’t do to be squeamish.” 

“ I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Reynard,” said Broad, speaking 
very confidentially, but at the same time very eagerly ; “ I’ll be 
frank with you ; — I hate foul play of every sort, and I trust we 
will not have much of it; but I would strain a point or two, 


826 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


that I would, sir, to secure the return of my eloquent and distin- 
guished townsman.” 

“ The feeling does you infinite credit,” said Reyna. d, “let us 
go and call upon Mr. Harvey.” 

They found Harvey and Friend Wilson confabulating together 
over a cup of tea. The spirit of Jesuitry is not confined to the 
Jesuits. There was not a pair of more arrant Jesuits, after a 
fashion of their own, in all England, than Friends Harvey and 
Wilson ; that is to say, the value they set upon an object made 
them shamefully indifferent as to the choice of the means of ac- 
complishing it. Had you talked to either of them of any species 
of corruption in connexion with some movement which did not 
concern them, you would have found them as pure as any men 
need be ; but when they believed that the interests of their sect 
were involved, when the advancement of their thousand philan- 
thropic schemes and speculations was in question ; when, in short, 
the dirty lane had such “ a treat” at the end of it as the genius 
and services of a man like Mr. Medlicott, the muck and the mire 
must have been very thick indeed that would have deterred 
either of those worthy Quakers from tramping through it. Mr. 
Wilson, indeed, was beginning to put one or two very natural 
questions to Mr. Reynard, as to the employment of the gold he 
required, when he was checked by Harvey, who said — 

“ Thou art not a man of the law, Friend Wilson, any more 
than myself. Neither thou nor I understandest these matters ; 
sufficient to every man is the knowledge that appertaineth to his 
own trade and calling. Friend Reynard will take care that 
everything is done that ought to be done, and that nothing is 
done that ought not to be done. If thou requirest three hundred 
pounds, Friend Reynard, thou slialt have it, — in what shape 
wouldest thou like the money ?” 

“ A bag of sovereigns,” said Reynard. 

“ If thou callest on me at ten o’clock in the morning, thou 
slialt have the bag.” 

Reynard pondered a moment, and then said, it would be 
impossible for him to call himself, but he would send a trusty 
person to Mr. Harvey at the hour appointed. 

“As thou pleasest, Friend,” said Harvey. 

“ Better still,” said Reynard, “ you will hand the bag ovei 
to Mr. Wilson, who will hand it over to my messenger.” 

“Thou hast good reasons, Friend, I have no doubt,” said 
Harvey, “for thy circumbendibus everything shall be done 
agreeable to thy wishes.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


327 


Mr. Broad asked the attorney, as they left the Quaker’s shop, 
what his reasons were for passing the bag of gold through so 
many hands. 

“ Oh,” said Reynard, “ it would not be necessary only for 
the number of mean suspicious rogues there are in the world, 
particularly on election committees. You have no idea how 
prevalent a spirit of low curiosity is among a certain class of 
honorable gentlemen, particularly where money is concerned. 
We can’t be too cautious, let us be ever so honest, take my 
word for it.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS. 

On the day of the meeting at Lord Maudlin’s, Dr. Pigwidgeon 
had no more notion of standing for Chichester than he had of 
contesting the West Riding of Yorkshire ; nor did Mr. Medli- 
cott dream of meeting any opposition in that city, except upon 
purely public grounds. We have now to relate a little morsel 
of secret history, to explain how it came to pass that the move- 
ments of Reuben’s friends became prematurely known in quar- 
ters most hostile to him, how the breast of the Doctor became 
fired with the same ambition that inflamed greater men, and 
who encouraged and supported him in his daring undertaking. 

Mr. Bavard, who had started in life as a medical man, and 
acted as family physician to some of the ailing nobility, having 
given up for some years that line of practice, tried his hand suc- 
cessively at several other things, and settled down at last into a 
sort of professional toad-eating and sycophancy, which agreed 
well enough with his social talents, and raised instead of lower- 
ing his position in the world. 

At this time it happened to be an habitue of the Bar- 
sacs, to whom he was both useful and agreeable, fetching 
and carrying gossip from great houses to which he had or pre- 
tended to have access ; nosing out bargains of pictures for the 
merchant who had become a connoisseur in painting; doing the 
talk at their massive dinners, and a variety of little ser rices of 
the like honourable nature. Among other things, he had man- 
aged to get the portrait of brown Sherry into the Book of 


828 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


Beauty, without which, there was reason to think, she would 
not have completed the conquest of Mr. Leadenhall, the old 
East India director, to whom she had now been about a year 
married. 

At Barsac’s table Mr. Bavard had some opportunities (not 
many, for he was not often asked to first-class parties), of meet- 
ing the Bishop of Shrewsbury. The Bishop had treated him 
with as much contempt and neglect as it was possible for one 
man to show to another; he silenced hirn without mercy when 
he attempted to be anecdotic ; but Bavard was not the man to 
be easily repulsed by any amount of snubbing and oversight. 
The more the Bishop overlooked him, the more intently he fixed 
his regards on the Bishop, and at length he discovered the true 
road and short cut to his heart, which consisted in bedaubing 
his works with the grossest flattery, and abusing everybody 
whom he knew his Lordship disliked. He very soon ascertain- 
ed that to hear anything to his grandson’s disadvantage was 
music to the old man’s ears. How it became known beyond 
the Society of Friends that Reuben was the writer of the de- 
fence of Quakerism was by no means certain ; probably his own 
vanity led him to boast of that production in places where it was 
imprudent to do so ; but, however it happened, the truth oozed 
out, as all truth will sooner or later, and at length coming to Mr. 
Bavard’s ear in London, it was not long in making the journey 
from thence to the palace at Shrewsbury. The rage of the Bishop 
was far greater upon this occasion than it had been before, even 
when he was attacked for deserting his principles, and denounced 
as an apostate. In fact, Reuben’s pamphlet was, upon some points, 
(where the Bishop’s passions had betrayed his judgment,) really 
a triumphant answer ; and a man who piqued himself chiefly on 
his controversial powers could bear anything better than that. 
The Bishop was in London shortly after, met his informant at 
Portland-plaoi, and for the first time noticed and smiled on him. 
Nothing passed, however, on the subject of Bavard’s revelation, 
but the conversation turning after dinner upon the House of 
Commons and the rising talent of the day, somebody mentioned 
Mr. Medlicott’s name with applause, adding that his friends were 
determined to procure him a seat in Parliament by hook or 
crook. 

The Bishop instantly broke out into the stormiest abuse of 
his relation, greatly to the distress of Mrs. Wyndham, who was 
present. . As usual, there was a great deal of truth mingled with 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


829 


the violence of his invectives. He never once mentioned his 
grandson’s name, hut assailed him with equal effect as one of a 
class of talking adventurers, who were springing up everywhere 
like mushrooms, and becoming the pest of the community. 
Men who failed at every thing else, for want of knowledge, or 
industry, or the commonest abilities, aspired to be statesmen, 
and thought themselves perfectly qualified to legislate for the 
kingdom ; the offcasts of all the professions — doctors without 
patients, lawyers without briefs, fellows without an idea in tlilir 
heads, or a guinea ip their pockets, were talking themselves into 
notoriety, and there were plenty of fools to listen to them. 
The next Parliament would be a Parliament of quacks and cox- 
combs, of assess and parrots. The only fortunate circumstance 
was, that the same ignorance and emptiness which made such 
people politicians, usually made them paupers also: elections 
cost money, and he was glad of it. A few thousand pounds 
could not possibly be better laid out, than in defeating the im- 
pudent attempts of those worthless adventurers, to thrust them- 
selves into the legislature. 

Bayard lingered at the table that evening until he was alone 
with Mr. Barsac, whose slavish readiness to humour every whim 
or passion of the Bishop was perfectly well known to all his 
acquaintance. They conversed together in private for half an 
hour, and the result was, that Barsac commissioned the other 
to keep a sharp watch on Mr. Medlicott’s proceedings, to discov- 
er what place he aimed at representing, “ for,” said the mer- 
chant, a littl • warmed with his own wine, “it’s a public duty 
to try to keep such a man as that out of Parliament, and if 
it costs some thousands to do it, the money shall be forth- 
coming.” 

Bavard had now just the sort of occupation that suited his 
delicate moral tastes ; and he had resorted to a variety of shabby 
tricks before he attended the meeting of Mr. Medlicott’s friends 
in Cavendish-square. From that meeting he proceeded straight 
to Portland-place ; but on his way he met little Griffin, the pur- 
suivant, than whom Reuben had not a more malignant enemy in 
the world, ever since Griffin stole his paper on heraldry, and got 
himself made Blue Mantle on the strength of it. To this gentle- 
man, accordingly, Bavard related everything; what Mr. Medlicott 
was about to do, and what steps Mr. Barsac was bent upon taking 
to counteract him. Griffin was not slow to propose himself as 
vhe rival candidate, but Bavard satisfied him that nobody would 


830 the universal genius ; 

answer who was not to some extent locally connected with 
Chichester. 

“ Then I know a man,” said Griffin, “ who will answer your 
purpose to a nicety, my intimate friend, Mr. Pig widgeon, lie is 
coqueting at this moment with the Irish borough of Blafney, but 
he will only be too happy to give that up, and stand for his na- 
tive city, if Mr. Barsac will come down with the necessary funds.” 

“ What sort of a fellow is he ?” inquired Bavard. 

®“ I need hardly tell you he’s an orator,” said the other, “ or 
the people of Blarney would never have looked at him ; he is 
the best speaker, beyond all comparison, I ever heard in my life. 
He is the ‘ coming man,’ in my opinion. A noble, high-minded 
fellow, full of heart as he is of talent. He is just the man, let 
me tell you, who won’t forget a service done him when he is in 
a situation to repay it.” 

This speech, particularly the last sentence of it, decided Mr. 
Bavard’s course. He saw Mr. Barsac, and then Griffin again, 
that same evening ; went with him to Mr. Pigwidgeon’s, and 
then they all went together to Portland-place, where everything 
was arranged before midnight to the satisfaction of all parties. 
Mr. Pigwidgeon, having already prevailed on his father to ad- 
vance a thousand pounds towards the purchase of the Irish 
borough, was perfectly content with Barsac’s promise to advance 
another thousand ; the latter reckoned on the Bishop paying 
the money himself, to gratify his spite against his grandson. 
Griffin engaged himself to write the squibs for the election, at 
the rate of five guineas a piece ; and Mr. Bavard was gratified 
with an assurance of Mr. Pigwidgeon’s future patronage, and the 
honour of his friendship in the mean time. 


CHAPTER X. 

HOW rilE CONTEST WAS CONI DOTED. 

A contested election splits the society of county or county town, 
no matter how united previously, just as a thunderbolt splits a 
forest-tree, let the wood be of ever so tough a fibre. Forty-eight 
hours before the public announcement of the candidates, not a 
dozen inhabitants of the place (beyond the circle of his immediate 


OR, THE COMING MaN. 


331 


relatives and friends) were troubling their heads about Mr. Med- 
licott, and not half the number cared a groat whether his oppo- 
nent was on this side or that of the Stygian ferry ; yet no sooner 
was the announcement made, no sooner did the recognised 
leaders of the local parties formally recommend those gentlemen 
to the notice of their friends and followers respectively, than the 
whole city divided itself in twain with a celerity that was quite 
astonishing ; every man you met was either a Reubenite or a 
Pigwidgeonite ; you would have supposed that the very exist- 
ence of Chichester depended upon the relative merits of the 
Vicar’s son and the apothecary’s ; a disruption took place of the 
oldest social ties ; ancient friendships were suspended ; candour 
was banished by universal consent ; decency w r as sent off in the 
same ship ; in short, to express the moral change that took place 
in the inflated language, which Mr Medlicott would probably 
have used himself, Truth and Honesty flew back to Heaven, and 
the spirits of Falsehood and Corruption ascended from the bot- 
tomless pit, to reign for a season in their stead. 

The head -quarters of Mr. Medlicott’s friends was an inn called 
the Parrot. His opponents established themselves at the Magpie, 
and each interest made itself excessively merry with the other’s 
bird, and pronounced it most appropriate and happily emble- 
matic. In a few days the names of the birds began to pass cur- 
rent for those of the parties ; Reuben’s friends going by the 
name of the Parrots, while Mr. Pigwidgeon’s -were called the 
Magpies. The actual bribery went on at neither of the inns, but 
in two modest and retiring places which had long enjoyed the 
appellations of Guinea Lane and Yellow Row ; no doubt given to 
them in consequence of the virtuous practices for which they were 
notorious. The particular houses in those lanes, where the busi- 
ness was carried on, were well-known to all persons connected 
with the city, with the curious exception of every one who had 
ever represented, or sought to represent it in Parliament, some 
of whom were even strangely ignorant that such places as Yellow 
Row and Guinea Lane existed. 

The electric telegraph had not been discovered, yet the rapi- 
dity with which the facts were known that Mr. Reynard was 
agent for Mr. Medlicott, that there was an ample capital to draw 
on, and that a bag of three hundred sovereigns had actually been 
placed in the attorney’s hands, was such as to justify a suspicion 
that some agency of extraordinary, if not magical, character had 
been employed to convey the interesting intelligence, Reynard’s 


332 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS j 

very name had the chink of ready money to the ear of the :;<r- 
ruptibles. A physiognomist acquainted with the sordid lines 
which the paltry vice of covetousness delves in the human coun- 
tenance, miofht have distinguished a certain class of voters as he 
walked the streets. The hope of a five-pound note brought the 
glorious privileges of the British constitution home to the hearts 
and bosoms of a band of electors, not, perhaps, the majority of the 
constituents, but sufficiently numerous to reduce the suffrages of 
the honest portion to practical insignificance. The coolest mem- 
bers of the comm unit} 7 , at a moment of such general excitement, 
were those who had come to the determination of putting them- 
selves up for sale, and knocking themselves down to the highest 
bidder. No personal affections or animosities warped them ; no 
political passions inflamed them ; no enthusiasm for reform or 
philanthropy betrayed them into extravagance, or for a moment 
diverted their minds from the simple calculation of the market- 
value of their votes. To them it was nothing whether Medlicott 
or Pigwidgeon was the greater orator, or whether this cause or 
that cause was likely to be advanced or prejudiced by the triumph 
of the one or the other. To these single-minded men, the only 
questions were, which of the candidates had the most to spend, 
and which of them was most disposed to spend it. They were 
to be seen walking about the town with their left hands thrust 
ostentatiously into their breeches pockets, a sign agreed upon 
among them, and perfectly well understood to be a public adver- 
tisement of their resolution to sell their country. 

There was another fraction of the constituency which had 
intellectual tastes, political feelings, and moral principles ; but 
being exposed to various foul influences, and deficient in moral 
courage, ardently desired to follow the dictates of their con- 
sciences, but were more likely, in the event of a fierce struggle, 
to obey the commands of their customers, acquiesce in the 
pleasure of their landlords, or yield to the intimidation of the 
rabble. Of this unfortunate class (to whom the possession of the 
franchise was nothing but a misfortune) some preserved a stub- 
born silence on the subject of the coming election ; some openly 
and justly complained of the constitution that gave them a priv- 
ilege without protecting them in the use of it ; while others, 
ashamed of the tyranny to which they succumbed, affected ap- 
probation of the course to which they foresaw they would ulti- 
mately be driven by it. Practically and virtually, these unfortu- 
nate people were only the proxies of others, who really possessed 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


333 


the influence which the voter* nominally wielded ; in many cases 
they were the proxies of persons to whom the law had positively 
refused the right of suffrage, disqualifying them to vote them- 
selves, while it most preposterously enabled them tu dictate and 
control the votes of others. 

The Vicar and his friend Mr. Cox had hitherto been opposed 
to secret voting, but being particularly interested in this contest, 
and consequently paying more attention to its details than they 
had ever paid to an election before, they could never afterwards 
understand how any man, sincerely desirous to diminish the evils 
of bribery and intimidation, could object to the system of the 
ballot. Old Mr. Medlicott had the evils of terrorism brought 
under his own eyes in a very distinct and curious manner. 
He discovered that his own wife had been guilty of threat- 
ening to withdraw her paltry little custom from bakers, and 
butchers, and other tradesmen, should they presume to vote 
against her son. You may suppose how angry this made an 
honest little man like him. He gave the lady a hearty rating for 
her unconstitutional practices, desired to have no more such foul 
doings, and going round to every one of the little shops that 
had been threatened, disclaimed in the most explicit terms all par- 
ticipation or approval of Mrs. Medlicott’s most improper conduct. 

But when the struggle began in earnest, there was corruption 
enough of every kind, which was utterly beyond the control of 
Reuben’s friends, or the conscientious portion of them. Before 
either of the rivals appeared on the stage, Mr. Primrose saw enough 
to make him regret that he had taken any part in the business 
at all, and placing Mrs. Mountjoy’s purse in Dr. Page’s hands, he 
made a precipitate retreat to London. 

In every battle somebody, of course, must fire the first shot. 
The first shot upon this occasion was fired by the enemy in the 
form of a monstrous libel upon Mr. Medlicott, from the pen of 
his friend Mr. Griffin. 

Mrs. Medlicott was in despair, and went about the house 
wringing her hands, and complaining in the . itterest terms of 
the falsehood of the article. 

“ One would think that you wished it was all true,” said the 
Vicar. “ The falsehood is just the thing you ought to be glad 
of. We must see about answering it, or getting it retracted.” 

* Dr. Page swore he would make them eat their words, and 
taking a cudgel in his hand, which he had probably bought 
with an eye to such uses, he strolled into the village. 


334 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


The libel was evidently the production of a master of the art. 
After stating a good deal that was reasonable enough about the 
desultory life Reuben had led, and treating his pretensions, upon 
public grounds, with a contempt and ridicule to which no fair 
objection could be made, the article suddenly assumed the high' 
est moral tone, laid down the broad principle that public virtue 
was incompatible with private vices, and deplored the imperious 
necessity which sometimes compelled a writer to discuss subjects 
at once the most delicate and the most repulsive. But duty (as 
usual in all such cases) was the paramount consideration ; and 
he would, therefore, give the electors of Chichester a plain, un- 
varnished history of the man who had the incomparable insolence 
to solicit the suffrages of that ancient and venerable city. 
Then followed a series of statements, many of them sheer 
fictions, others founded upon little facts in Reuben’s early career, 
which we have already imparted to our readers without lowering 
him much in their good opinion. The writer trembled, as he 
said, to approach that particular era of Mr. Medlicott’s life, when 
he was the favoured inmate of his grandfather’s house in Here- 
fordshire, and, after disgracing the hospitable mansion of that 
great and good man, with debaucheries for which even the hot 
blood of youth was no apology, set one wing of it on fire, to destroy 
the records of his orgies, and to some extent actually effected his 
profligate purpose. He willingly passed over in silence many a 
year spent in low conviviality, in habits of daily intimacy with 
the scum of society ; but he would like to know whether the pot- 
companions of glaziers and carpenters, the bosom friend of shoe- 
makers and tailors, the Lothario of dairy-maids, and the 
of the ale-house was a proper person to represent the c 
Sussex? Would he dare to confess to the world the nature of 
his well-know 7 n connection with a gang of French adventurers, 
who commenced their career at Hereford, who travelled from 
thence to Cambridge, shoemakers in one place, booksellers in 
another, and hairdressers (he believed) at this present moment 
in London? Mr. Medlicott was impregnable, indeed upon one 
point ; he was safe on the subject of his intrigues with the fair 
sex ; bnt he was safe only because they were too scandalous to 
be alluded to by any writer of common decency. What would 
the virtuous inhabitants of that virtuous city think of a man, of 
whom it was stated (and, alas, upon too solid grounds), that he 
had gone the horrible and incredible length of attempting to 
seduce the affections of his own grandmother ; but, to the eternal 


Orpheus 
apital of 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


335 


honour of her sex, that paragon of female purity had repelled 
his insulting addresses, and had only been prevented by motives 
easily understood from publicly exposing and denouncing her 
shame: ess assailant. 

With this iibel in his pocket, I)r. Page walked into the 
apothecary’s shop. Mr. Pigwidgeon was not at home; he had 
gone to town to meet his son, who was expected to arrive that 
evening from London. The Doctor hired a horse at the inn, 
rode into Chichester, and went straight to the office of the’ news- 
paper. lie fii*st asked for the editor, who was not to be seen ; 
then he inquired if by any chance his friend Mr. Pigwidgeon 
was on the premises, putting the question with all possible sua- 
vity, so as to disarm any suspicion of a hostile intention, which, 
indeed, his whiskers and the cudgel were well calculated to 
awaken. The stratagem succeeded. The Doctor was introduced 
the next moment into a small room, full of desks and papers, 
where he found the apothecary seated with another gentleman, 
from whose countenance he concluded, at the first glance, he was 
the person who wrote the li’vl, no matter who was responsible 
for its publication. Griffir w. s the very incarnation of the spirit 
of the cowardly, base, and malignant libeller. The cowardiee 
was in his complexion, the malignity in his eye, the baseness 
everywhere. There never was a quicker operation of the mind 
than that by which both he and Mr. Pigwidgeon connected the 
cudgel with the attack on Reuben the moment the Doctor en- 
tered the room. 

The latter being a man of very few words, came to the sub- 
ject of his visit with the shortest possible preamble ; said he took 
the liberty of waiting on Mr. Pigwidgeon, in consequence of 
some compliments that had been lately paid to Mr. Reuben Med- 
licott in print, and begged to know whether the apothecary or his 
friend was the author, as, upon such occasions, he was always 
| particular about punishing the proper person. 

Mr. Pigwidgeon replied, with a visible quivering all over, 

; that he knew nothing about what the Doctor alluded to, and 
that, at all events, the editor was the only responsible person for 
whatever appeared in the paper. Mr. Griffin had only just ar- 
rived in Chichester, and what could he know of any such matter? 

“ Gentlemen,” said Page, planting himself pugnaciously oppo- 
site to them both, “ if I had the editor here, I should urobably 
address myself to him alone, but as, fortunately for himself, he 
is elsewhere, I mean* to hold you two severally and jointly re- 

• 


336 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


sponsible for the ruffianly libel upon my absent friend, and there 
is but one condition that shall save you from my immediate ven- 
geance ; you must promise to insert the amplest retraction, and 
most abject apology, in the next number of your publication.” 

Griffin looked furtively round the room, to see if there was 
any vindow to escape by, while the apothecary mumbled a pro- 
test against unnecessary violence, and said he was sure his friend 
the editor would be glad to qualify any observations he might 
have made, in the heat of a moment, calculated to hurt the 
feelings of anybody in the world. 

“Qualification won’t do,” said the Doctor; “retraction is the 
word ; and to save you the trouble of additional composition, Til 
dictate the terms of it. Take the pen in your hand, Mr. Griffin, 
and write what I bid you.” 

Griffin hesitated and murmured, but the club hanging over 
him like a comet, overcame all other considerations. The follow- 
ing was the Doctor’s prescription, word for word : — 

“ The undersigned hereby acknowledges that the article re- 
lating to the character of Mr. Rei Medlicott, published in 
the ‘ Chichester Mercury’ of the — Inst., was written by him, and 
that the statements in it to the prejudice of that gentleman are 
utterly false and unfounded ; that he had no ground whatsoever for 
imputing any immoral or dishonourable conduct to Mr. Medli- 
cott at any period of his life ; on the contrary, he believes and 
knows him to be no less distinguished by the spotlessness of his 
reputation, than by the variety of his accomplishments, and the 
splendour of his talents.” 

“Now read it over for me,” said Page, “till I see if it runs 
smooth.” 

With this request, also, Mr. Griffin complied, and only mut- 
tered an objection to the statement respecting Mr. Medlicott’s 
talents and accomplishments, of which, he said, he knew nothing. 

“If you are ever called in question for that part of it, give 
me as your authority,” said the Doctor ; “ and now your sig- 
nature, sir, if you please.” 

“ This is very hard,” grumbled the caitiff, in the humour of 
Pistol swallowing the leek. 

“ I dare say” said Page, “ this is not the first document of the 
kind you have put your name to, in your time.” 

He then took the paper, handed it to Mr. Pigwidgeon, told 
him he would hold him responsible for its publication, and went 
his way, much prouder of his exploit than he had reason to be. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


337 

for the result proved that such violent men as the Doctor are not 
the best friends to have at one’s back in a contested election, 
any more than other critical situations in life. 


CHAPTER XT. 

TIIE CONQUERING UERO COMES. 

“Pigwidgeon for ever! Hurrah for Pigwidgeon!” No sooner 
had Dr. Page stepped into the street, than his ears were saluted 
with the foregoing animated cries, proceeding from a little mob 
collected round a stage-coach which had just that moment 
stopped at the Magpie Inn, which was situated in South-street, 
nearly opposite the principal front of Matthew Cox’s house. Dr. 
Page hastened to the tobacconist’s, where he found the Vicar, 
his wife, and old Hannah Hopkins, just arrived, in a state of 
great excitement, a letter having been received from Reuben 
which led them to expect his appearance every moment. Mrs. 
Medlicott and Mi’s. Hopkins were conducted by Mr. Cox to an 
upper apartment, which commanded a view of the streets in 
several directions, and where several buxom matrons and fair 
maidens of Chichester and the neighbourhood were already as- 
sembled, admirers of Reuben every one of them, and all palpita- 
ting with anxiety to witness his public entry. Mrs. Winning, of 
Sunbury, a fine old lady, and an ardent politician, was there 
among the rest. Some of the mothers had brought their sons 
with them to stimulate their talents and virtues by Mr Medli- 
cott’s splendid example, and three of these hopeful boys were 
his godchildren and namesakes, Reuben Gosling, Reuben Bliss, 
and Reuben Medlicott Robinson. Little Gosling took great airs 
on himself, as having been one of the deputation to London ; but 
young Robinson gave him to understand he considered himself 
quite as important a personage, inasmuch as he w’as a Medlicott 
as well as a Reuben. 

The Doctor having tied up his horse under the laburnums in 
the lane, stationed himself with the Vicar and Mr. Cox at the 
shop-door, whence they all had the satisfaction of hearing the 
first speech of the new candidate, who was haranguing from the 
top of the Wonder, brandishing a stick almost as large as Page’s, 
and as white as a miller with the dust of the road. 
n 


338 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


u Pigwidgeon for ever ! Hurrah for Pigwidgeon ! Hurrah, 
hurrah — hear him, hear him !” 

When we say that Mr. Cox and his friends heard the speech, 
we only mean that they heard the noise or the wind of it, quite 
enough to satisfy them that the orator had an unrivalled case of 
lungs in his chest, but not sufficient to warrant any conclusion 
as to the brains in his head, if upon that point they had not been 
satisfied already. His action, however, was tremendous. The 
air never got such a buffeting ; and how the boxes and trunks 
which served for a rostrum held together under all the stamping,' 
was truly miraculous. The windows had already flown up all 
along the street, and were soon filled with clusters of excited faces; 
the young tag-rag and bob-tail of the town climbed the lamp- 
posts like monkeys, and everybody who could clamber upon a 
waggon, a van, or a donkey-cart, did so. 

“ He has words at will, at all events,” said the Doctor. 

“ Wonders will never cease,” said the Vicar. “ I remember 
when everybody considered that fellow the greatest booby in 
Chichester, and now he is standing for the city, and will be re- 
turned for all that I know ” 

“ Never, sir,” said the Doctor energetically, and striking the 
floor with the end of the stick, as if that was the force that was 
to carry the election. 

Mr. Cox shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say he had 
seen more marvellous things in his time. 

Presently it was evident that the tobacconist’s house was the 
object of the orator’s attention. 

“ He is, no doubt, honouring me with his abuse,” said old 
Matthew, who was standing in the back-ground ; “ I thank him 
for it, sincerely, and only hope he will never take to praising 
me.” 

At the same moment, a varlet from a lamp-post, who had 
once been sent by Mr. Cox to the House of Correction, proposed 
a groan for him, which was partially responded to by the rest of 
the tag-rag and bob-tail. But Page happening to draw to one 
side at the instant, this accidental movement brought the vener- 
able old citizen into view, whereupon a very different demonstra- 
tion took place ; somebody from a window in Mr. Broad’s house, 
called for a cheer in reply to the groan, and the call was so 
promptly, lustily, and heartily answered, that Mr. Cox could not 
but acknowledge \ which l e did with a courteous and dignified 
! *ow, directed to the window where the cheer commenced. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


839 


The orator, never a whit abashed, very adroitly took off hia 
hat, and with a prodigious flourish began most respectfully to 
salute the object of his late scurrility, and probably began to 
laud him at the same time in an equally disgusting strain-^the 
one gift, as well as the other, having come to Mr. Pigwidgeon by 
descent from his grandmother, who (it may be remembered) was 
“ a Beamish, or at all events a Murphy.” Presently he had an 
opportunity of making a still better hit, and, much as people 
might despise his abilities, he did not fail to turn it to advantage. 
A donkey, under a cart which stood not far off, began to bray as 
if the end of the world was at hand. There was no use in any- 
one else trying to be heard while the donkej" held forth. Some- 
body vowed vengeance on the animal, and called “ Silence ! ” as 
if it had been an ass of the human species, upon which the orator 
exclaimed — “ Gentlemen, hear Mr. Medlicott — I entreat you to 
hear Mr. Medlicott — fair play, gentlemen.” It was great fun to 
the crowd, and brought down thunders of applause from the 
lamp-posts and some of the windows, as far as the joke reached ; 
but it made Mrs. Medlicott wild, and all the god-sons frantic. 
The Vicar, however, was much amused, and so was Mr. Cox ; 
both more than the Doctor, who said it was an old electioneering 
joke, as long as he remembered anything of elections. 

“ I have observed,” said the Vicar, “ that jokes have then 
periodic times like the planets. They come round again as in- 
fallibly as the most regular of the heavenly bodies. Some re« 
turn at Christmas, others at Easter, others come in with the 
grouse or the partridge. The Budget is sure to bring a budget 
of stale jests along with it. Did you ever know a session to 
close without a lament over the dropped bills, and a facetious 
allusion to the massacre of the innocents ? A general election 
itself is only a septennial farce.” 

“Yet a dissolution is no joke to some people,” said old 
Matthew. 

“ The turnip-tops are beginning to fly,” said the Doctor, as 
several of those vegetables missiles now shot through the air in 
different directions. One of them, evidently aimed at the orator, 
struck him on the cheek, and he raised his hand to it. 

“ I wonder what’s good for that ?” said the Vicar. 

“ This work is beginning too soon,” said Mr. Cox. 

The general attention, however, was immediately engaged 
by a new- cause of excitement. Distant shouts were heard, and 
presently an opposition coach, called the Triumph, came thun 


340 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


dering along, in a cloud of dust, and followed, like the other, wiib 
a running corps of ragamuffins, whose whoops and hurrahs, 
mingled with the blasts of the guard’s horn, the barking of the 
curs, the bawling of Mr. Pigwidgeon, and the continued braying 
of his brother under the cart, made a din little short of fiendish. 
The women began to be frightened, just at the moment when 
they expected most to enjoy themselves, but the reflection that 
they were in a magistrate’s house tended to reassure them. 

“ I should not wonder if Reuben is come down by the Tri- 
umph,” said the Vicar, less composed now than he would have 
liked to admit. 

The Doctor hoped Reuben would make his entry in a more 
imposing manner. 

It was impossible as yet to distinguish anybody in the cloud 
of dust, but as the coach drew near, the cry of “ Medlicott for 
ever ! hurrah for Medlicott !” was heard distinctly. 

The shouts of the two parties now began to mingle. 

“ Hurrah for Medlicott, the friend of the world !” 

“ Hurrah for Pigwidgeon, the friend of the people !” 

“Medlicott for ever ! Down with Pigwidgeon !” 

“ Pigwidgeon for ever ! hurrah for Pigwidgeon ! Down with 
Medlicott!” 

“ Medlicott and Reform !” 

“ Medlicott and Sympathy !” 

“ Pigwidgeon and Purity of Election !” 

“ Down wdth Pigwidgeon !” 

“No Medlicotts !” 

“ No Pigwidgeons !” 

Dr. Page began to forget himself in the general excitement 
and flourish his stick and bawl like the rest, until Mr. Cox called 
him to order, and showed him the absolute necessity of control- 
ling his feelings, and setting a good example. 

The Triumph, on its way to the Parrot, stopped within a 
few yards of the Wonder, for the very good reason that the 
throng prevented it from getting a step further ; but the moment 
the dust subsided, it was plain that Mr. Medlicott was not 
among the passengers. The Doctor rubbed his hands with glee. 
It would never have answered for Reuben to have entered the 
town on the top of a stage coach like his plebeian rival. Mr. 
Broad, however, was there, as his harbinger and precursor, and 
his appearance answered nearly as well for the purpose ol in-, 
ireasirg the hubbub. Mr. Reynard was along with our friend 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


341 


the cutler, but kept himself quiet : and the only other outside 
passenger seemed to be a foreigner, though, to judge by his 
vivacity, and the vehemence of his gesticulations, he appeared 
to be as deeply interested in all that was going forward, as if he 
had been an elector of the borough. 

“Just look at Mr. Broad,” said Mr. Cox to the Vicar. “He 
must make a fool of himself because other people are doing so. 
I remember when we could not get him to move a man out of 
the chair a': the vestry, and now he promises to be as good an 
orator as the best of them.” 

“ He is at it, by all that’s lovely,” said the Doctor. 

Mr. Broad had now got on the box, beside the coachman, 
and if he was not making a speech, he was certainly going 
through all the dumb show of one, moving his lips volubly, and 
shaking both his head and his hand, either at the people on the 
roof of the Wonder, or the faces in the windows of the Magpie. 
The foreigner had jumped up behind him on the luggage; his 
weapon was an old cotton umbrella, which he flourished by way 
of reply to Mr. Pigwidgeon’s stick, while he roared as loud as 
the best Englishman of them all — 

“ I am for Monsieur Medlicott I — a has Peegviggin.” 

“That fool of a Frenchman had better hold his tongue,” said 
Mr. Cox, knowing the feelings of the English rabble towards 
their next-door neighbours of the Continent, and how apt they 
are, under any circumstances, to quarrel with and abuse them. 
But Monsieur persisted in his violent exclamations and antics ; 
defying the enemy with the parapluie , and crying — •“ A has 
Peegviggin ! Medlicott for ever !” Even the co. chman of the 
Triumph endeavoured to make him sit down, but t > no purpose; 
his enthusiasm was not to be controlled, until at length he ex- 
cited the feelings of which Mr. Cox was apprehensive, and a 
rush was made by some of the Pigwidgeonites to pull him off 
the box. This attempt he resisted furiously, keeping his place 
for some time with great courage and resolution, and making 
savage use of his umbrella, the spike at the end of which made 
it a formidable instrument. His assailants, however, were too 
many for him, and at last they succeeded in dragging him down 
into the street, where he would infallibly have been sadly 
maltreated, if Mr. Cox, followed by Dr. Page with his cudgel, 
had not promptly rushed to the spot, and rescued hi n almost 
as soon as he was in danger. Old Matthew collared the infuri- 
ated Frenchmj n, dragged him into his shop, and locked him up 


342 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


in a little private office he had, while the Doctor had enough to 
do to defend Mr. Broad and Mr. Reynard, which he accomplished, 
however, though not without some hard knocks, and getting 
one sleeve nearly torn off his singular green coat. 

“ A good beginning,” said the Doctor. 

“ Now, if I only had a little oak box of mine safe,” said the 
man of the law, with considerable anxiety, as if the value of the 
box was considerable. 

The Doctor now sallied forth again to fetch Mr. Reynard’s 
property, but that was not so easily done. It was as much as a 
man could do to lift it, and while the Doctor was in the act of 
receiving it from the hands of the guard, he dropped his stick, 
and some rogue in the crowd hustling him at the same moment, 
he dropped the box also, which fell on the pavement with a loud 
ringing sound, as if it had been all metal, and being at the same 
time partially broken by the concussion, out flew half a dozen 
broken sovereigns and rolled about the street. The sight of the 
gold literally maddened the knaves who were near the? spot and 
witnessed this untimely outpouring of the wealth of the Reuben- 
ites. A ferocious scramble instantly took place for the few coins 
that had escaped ; and if Page had not been a man of power- 
ful frame, he could not have saved the box itself from the hands 
of the rabble, as he succeeded in doing. After depositing the 
treasure behind Mr. Cox’s counter, he missed his sticky and to 
recover that he had to make a third sortie, in the course of 
which he came into collision with Dr. Pigwidgeon himself, 
with whom he had a furious war of words, ending in actual 
fisticuffs. 

Dr. Page charged Dr. Pigwidgeon with leading a band of 
ruffians and marauders. Dr. Pigwidgeon rejoined with the ac- 
cusation of open and shameless corruption, well warranted, cer- 
tainly, by the exposure of the box of gold. Page demanded 
whether the election was to be carried by terror and intimidation. 
Pigwidgeon retorted by asking if it was to be carried by barefaced 
bribery. After a few words more, Page struck the other, who 
instantly returned the blow, and it is hard to say how long the 
pugilistic contest might have lasted, if at length an uproar (much 
exceeding any that had yet been heard) had not announced the 
arrival of Mr. Medlicott himself. 

He had made the greater part of the journey from the me- 
tropolis in the Triumph, but had quitted that conveyance at an 
:nn about ten miles from Chichester, where an open carriage with 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


343 


four horses had been ordered by the Alderman to be in readiness 
for him. Mrs. Mount] oy would have been one of the party, only 
that she dreaded the Bishop’s displeasure ; and his wife, though 
she came down to the country with him, was not in a situation 
to face an excited mob, so that he would have wanted a lady to 
grace his side, if he had not fortunately been attended by Mrs. 
Chatterton, who, having come down from London with him, was 
delighted as well as proud to exchange the dust and obscurity of 
a stage-coach for the comfort and distinction of the seat in the 
four-in-hand. As in addition to being strikingly handsome, she 
was all energy and vivacity, and very gaily dressed, her substitu- 
tion for simple Mary Medlicott suited the occasion extremely 
w r ell. The mob took her for Reuben’s wife, and the more readily 
as she held his eldest little girl on her lap, and looked personally 
flattered and gratified by every demonstration of popular affec- 
tion and respect. To his parents and friends, however, the ap- 
pearance of a strange lady in his company caused the utmost 
surprise, and not a little displeasure mixed with it. Neither the 
Vicar nor his wife recollected Mademoiselle Louise, but Mrs. 
Winning, with whom she had formerly lived as lady’s maid, 
recalled her features as soon as she came sufficiently near, and 
was seriously offended with Reuben for what she considered a 
gross violation of propriety on his part, which indeed it was, 
though it was his vanity more than his gallantry led him to 
commit it 

The superior pomp and circumstance of Mr. Medlicott s entry, 
the equestrian display, the postillions with enormous pink cock- 
ades, his rosy children, and the gay lady who represented their 
mother, told powerfully in his favour, as Dr. Page had anticipated. 
The halt upon the road, too, had afforded him the opportunity 
of shaking off the dust, and changing his travelling dress for a 
fresh suit, in which he now shone as brilliant as a bridegroom — 
a complete contrast to the state in which his rival presented him- 
self to the public. The consequence of all these circumstances 
was, that the uproar was redoubled. The shouts for “ Medlicott 
and Reform !” and “ Medlicott, the World’s Friend !” became 
absolutely stunning. It soon became evident that the Pig- 
widgeonites were comparatively a small faction of the populace, 
and Mr. Cox, seeing the apothecary in the crowd, beckoned to 
him, and strongly pointed out the prudence of his son retiring 
into his inn, and suffering his opponent and his friends to pro- 
ceed peaceably to the Parrot, which was their head -quarters. 


344 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


Mr. Broad seconded this suggestion, but when Mr. Cox offered to 
engage that Reuben should not address the mob if his progress 
was not impeded, the cutler flatly refused to be a party to any 
such stipulation ; and the hostile candidates being now within a 
hundred yards of each other, all things seemed to promise ex- 
tremely fair for a general riot, and it was probably a shrewd idea 
of the Vicar’s that prevented its occurrence. Mr. Cox, at his sug- 
gestion, made his way through the rabble to Reuben’s carriage, 
and getting into it, commanded the postillions to advance. A 
prodigious shout was raised by the multitude as the order wa£ 
obeyed. The crowd receded on both sides before the popular old 
citizen and venerable magistrate ; they respected his hoary head 
as if it had been literally the crown to which a sacred writer 
beautifully compares such a head as his, and gave way to the 
expression of his will, with the submissiveness such as no other 
man in Chichester would have expected or could have enforced. 

The progress of hhe carriage was necessarily slow, but so 
much the better for the display which Reuben and his friends 
were desirous to make. The Triumph and some other vehicles 
followed, and formed a sort of procession. They met with no 
molestation of the slightest consequence ; not a missile was 
thrown of any kind ; in fact anybody who had been rash enough 
to fling an egg or a turnip-top at Mr. Cox, would have run a 
serious risk of being torn to pieces by the mob. In front of the 
tobacconist’s house, the only clamour audible was that of Reu- 
ben’s own partisans. There the line of carriages paused for a 
few minutes, and the waving of handkerchiefs was such as for 
some time to prevent Mr. Medlicott from distinguishing his fair 
friends in the windows. The uproar was deafening, but decidedly 
propitious. 

Mr. Pigwidgeon, still on the same perch, was entirely put out 
of countenance by his opponent’s success, and assumed the air of 
a man too gallant and high-minded, to assail a rival who had 
placed himself under the triple protection of beauty, infancy, and 
old age. He kept bowing ostentatiously, now to Mr. Cox, now 
to Mrs. Chatterton, who, however, had pulled down her veil, to 
avoid being recognized by him. In doing so she had placed the 
little girl in the old man’s arms. The child was as gay and fear- 
less as if it had been “ born to the manner” of a contested elec- 
tion, and as Matthew held it aloft, streaming with ribbons, and 
not unlike a banner, the effect upon the spectators was astonish- 
ing, particularly upon the female portion of them. Mr. Cox was 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


345 


again cheered vociferously, after which the hurrahs for Mr. Med- 
licott were renewed, and the opportunity seemed a fair one for 
making a short speech. Mr. Cox was against it, but yielded on 
condition that the speech was not to occupy more than ten mi- 
nutes. Reuben sprang upon the seat of the carriage. His 
reported speech was probably the shortest on record. It con- 
sisted of but one word, which was “ Fellow-citizens.” The Pig- 
widgeonites were influential enough to prevent another syllable 
being heard, and they exerted their influence most successfully. 
In fact the storm was rapidly rising again, when Mr. Cox, pre- 
tending that the time was expired, made a sign to the postillions 
to move forward as quickly as they could ; and in something 
less than half an hour, Mr. Medlicott arrived at the Parrot, where 
he amply compensated both himself and his friends, by making 
a speech which lasted until the sun went down, and would have 
lasted until the moon rose, if his own father had not put a slip 
of paper in his hand, adjuring him, by all the ties of affection 
and duty, to recollect that the custom of dining had not yet been 
laid aside at Underwood. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A CHAPTER OF OUTRAGES OX ALL SIDES. 

Mr. Medlicott offended all his discreet friends, by making his 
public entry as he did, in company with a lady in Madame 
feeauvoisin’s position, which, though not disreputable, was cer- 
tainly ambiguous. Mrs. Winning ceased, in consequence, to 
take an active interest in his success. The good little parson, 
however, relented only too soon, upon his son’s assurance that 
Louise was not only a married woman, but the correctest, as she 
was the cleverest, of her sex ; and being satisfied upon this, 
which was the main point, he accosted the lady in his most cor- 
dial manner, and offered her both a dinner and a bed that night 
at the Vicarage. Mrs. Medlicott looked daggers at him ; but 
having a kindly feeling for the pretty Frenchwoman au fond , 
from recollection of her service in former days, she too laid by 
her scruples before long, though she seconded but coldly hei 
husband’s invitations. Madame, however, was s^ uneasy about 
15 * 


846 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


her brother, that she did not know whether to accept or refuse ; 
and Reuben, also, was at a loss to think what had become of 
Adolphe, who had come down, he knew, from London in the 
same coach with himself. 

“If it is a Frenchman you are all looking for,” said Mr. 
Cox, “ I think I can accommodate you ; for I have got a gen- 
tleman of that country safe under lock and key below in my 
office.” 

“My poor Adolphe a prisoner!” cried Reuben with surprise; 
“ Pray, worthy Magistrate, for what crime has he forfeited his 
freedom !” 

“ Oh, he is innocent : he is innocent !” cried his sister, spring- 
ing forward, and astonishing the old man by falling on her 
knees at his feet, and raising her clasped hands in the theatrical 
manner of imploring mercy. 

“ Be comforted, Madame,” said Mr. Cox, smiling, and cour- 
teously raising her ; “ we only locked the gentleman up for his 
own protection ; there is no charge against him, and he shall be 
released this moment.” 

“ You will give him his liberty,” said the Yicar, “ and I will 
give him his dinner : — liberty, and a dinner — two of the best 
gifts that man can bestow upon his fellow.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Reuben in his father’s ear ; “ and the 
more as my friend in duresse has every talent in the world ex- 
cept that of providing a dinner for himself.” 

“What is he ?” asked the Vicar. 

“ W T hat is he not, sir !” replied Reuben in the same under- 
tone ; “ he was first my shoemaker ; then my music teacher ; 
next my bookseller; after that my cigar-merchant; now he is — • 
I really hardly know what.” 

“Your gentleman at large,” said the Vicar; for Mr. Cox 
having liberated M. Beauvoisin, returned with him just at that 
moment, and then there was another impassioned scene between 
brother and sister, as if the former had been released from ac- 
tual chains and a dungeon. 

It is hardly necessary to say that they were both charmed at 
finding themselves comfortably provided for at the Vicarage, 
instead of paying for very inferior entertainment at an hotel. 
They found their quarters, indeed, so agreeable, that they show- 
ed no inclination to change them during the ferment ; and being 
grateful for the father’s hospitality, as well as sincerely anxious 
for the son’s success, they made themselves useful while they 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


347 


remained, Louise by making a variety of tasteful banners and 
flags, Adolphe by a number of little attentions and activities, 
which kept him busy from morning till night. Adolphe, in- 
deed, as it soon turned out, was a great deal too energetic; and 
so was Dr. Page, from whom a sounder discretion might have 
been expected. The latter, instead of returning quietly to his 
sober bottle of port at Underwood, lingered in town by way of 
transacting electioneering business ; and before the evening was 
over, having most probably exceeded that temperate allowance, 
got into a fresh personal conflict with Mr. Pigwidgeon, which 
ended in their both being bound over by Mr. Cox to keep the 
peace, not only towards each other, but all the rest of his 
Majesty’s subjects. Dr. Pigwidgeon made no objection to enter 
into these recognisances, but Page vehemently demonstrated, and 
begged with amusing earnestness to have his obligations limited 
to his particular antagonist, being anxious (though he did not 
own it at the time) to keep himself free to redeem the engage- 
ments he had entered into in the morning, with the apothecary 
and Mr. Griffin. Mr. Cox, however, was inexorable ; and the 
two doctors were manacled together in a figurative way, as 
tight as the law could bind them. 

“ By Jove !” said Page to the old magistrate, when the coast 
was clear, “ you little know the mischief you have done by your 
untimely interference. You may be a justice of the peace, but 
you have served the interests of peace better than those of jus- 
tice. I heartily wish I had paid those libellous scoundrels in 
ready money, instead of passing my note to them for a thrash- 
ing.” 

“Never mind,” said Reynard, taking him by the arm; “if 
they abuse us, we’ll abuse them ; that’s my system, and I know 
something about conducting a contested election.” 

Reynard had brought down a little corps of libellers with him, 
quite as expert and unscrupulous in that respectable lino of 
business ; and it was not without the greatest difficulty that Mr. 
Medlicott (who had no taste for such tactics) succeeded in pre- 
venting his partisans from retaliating upon the other party with 
the same abominable system of warfare, calumny for calumny, 
and lie for lie. Mr. Pigwidgeon, however, met with contumely 
enough in all conscience ; in fact, he was abused and dispar- 
aged by Mr. Medlicott’s friends more than was consistent 
with a prudent regard to their own interests. Running a man 
down unjustly or excessively is a certain way to give him a lift 


848 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


in the general estimation. He rises in opinion mucli as a ball 
does, which, by rolling down one inclined plane, acquires a mo- 
mentum that carries it to some extent up another. So it was 
with Mr. Pigwidgeon. He was nothing, in fact, but an empty, 
vapouring blockhead, not for a moment to be compared to his 
educated and accomplished opponent (allowing for all Mr. Med- 
licott’s faults and deficiencies) ; but Pigwidgeon was set up a 
little by the violence with which he was decried ; and Reuben 
Jaimself felt this so much, that whenever he mentioned Mr. Pig- 
widgeon, he carefully refrained from adopting the tone which his 
party generally employed in speaking of him. 

And here let us do Mr. Medlicott the justice and the honour 
of saying, that one admirable and remarkable quality distin- 
guished him as a public speaker : he never loved to indulge in 
coarse or scurrilous language ; his diction was generally refined 
and gentlemanlike, more tending to the extreme of too much 
delicacy, than too much force. His flowers of speech, as he 
would have expressed it himself, were often exotics, but they were 
never unsavoury weeds. From Billingsgate he shrunk with in- 
stinctive horror. When he assailed an adversary, it was not 
with the mire from the pool, but the shining pebble from the 
brook ; much the most effective, as well as the most creditable, 
mode of levelling either a dwarf or a giant. 

On the part of the Magpies, however, there was no restraint 
of either tongue or pen. l)r. Page’s anticipations were perfectly 
correct. The fear of his cudgel being removed from the eyes of 
the slanderers, not only was the retractation dictated by Page 
flung into the fire, but the assault was renewed and continued, 
with the most malignant aggravations and embellishments, to 
the end of the contest. Upon one occasion only was personal 
retribution exacted. Though the apothecary escaped the cud- 
gel, he was not so fortunate as to elude another corrector of the 
press, in the still more irregular shape of an umbrella. A crowd 
of Reuben’s friends were standing one morning at an open win- 
dow in the Parrot, reading the last and most scandalous produc- 
tion of the enemy, containing the broadest and vilest allusions to 
the Beauvoisins, and their domestic relations with Mr. Medlicott. 

“ It ought to be calmly answered,” said Mr. Gox. 

“ And rigorously prosecuted,” added somebody else. 

“ Answered and prosecuted !” cried the Doctor ; “ there is 
only one way of prosecuting an article like that ; if my hands 
were not tied, I know the answer it would receive from me. 


UK, THS COMING MAN. 


349 


This comes of binding a man over to keep the peace towards all 
the rascals in England, at a great constitutional crisis like this. 
I’ll never forgive you for it, Mr. Cox.” 

Mr. Broad and the Frenchman (the latter very naturally) 
were also among the indignants ; the latter venting his wrath with 
all the grotesque action and in all the odd imprecations of his 
country. Presently some one near a window called out — “ There 
goes the scoundrel himself, the leader of the gang !” The apo- 
thecary was sneaking past the Parrot on his way to his son’s 
committee at the Magpie. Everybody ran to the window toliss 
and groan him ; but the Frenchman (after a single look to make 
certain of Mr. Pigwidgeon’s person) rushed down stairs, out into 
the street, shouting that he was not bound to keep de peace 
towards Monsieur Pigviggin,” and the next moment was seen 
banging the unfortunate apothecary about the head, and every- 
where else, with his umbrella, kicking him at the same time in 
the most ignominious manner ; and in return to all demands on 
the part of the kickee to know the reason for such outrage, 
simply replying, “ You are Pigviggin, dat is de reason ! you are 
Pigviggin, dat is reason enough, sare !” still banging him until 
the umbrella almost went to pieces, and the bystanders at length 
interposed on behalf of order and humanity. 

“ Seize him and hold him !” shouted Mr. Cox, hastening to 
arrest the assailant, and calling on the Aldermen to support 
him ; but the mob in the neigbourhood of the Parrot, encouraged 
by the cheers of Dr. Page and others from the -window, were 
only too ready to take the part of the foreigner on an occasion 
of this kind ; so that before the magistrate could reach the scene 
of action, the perpetrator of the outrage had got clean off. The 
apothecary was sadly bemauled, and slunk away to the Magpie 
to stimulate his friends to revenge his affronts, which, in the 
finest spirit of even-handed justice, they did in the course of the 
day, by bemauling an apothecary of the Beubenite party, a 
most inoffensive man, who took no active part in the contest, 
and had never molested anybody in his life. 

With this exception, Mr. Medlicott succeeded in keeping not 
only the pens, but the hands of his friends tolerably quiet, 
wishing to owe his return to moral superiority alone. It was 
not, however, so easy to prevent unlawful practices of another 
kind. Perhaps no man ever set his affections upon a seat in the 
House of Commons with a stronger aversion to every profligate 
art by which that distinguished and desirable object is too fre- 


350 


THE UNIVERSAL JENIUS ; 


quently obtained, or a sincerer des.re to win it by honourable 
means only. He was certainly an exception to the general rule ; 
and though he knew there existed such iniquitous dens as 
Guinea Lane and Yellow Row, he had no more notion of the 
deeds that were done upon his behalf in the former of those dark 
corners, than he had of the transactions in the Georgium Sidus. 
Perhaps he ought to have watched the proceedings of his 
friends more narrowly ; but a man cannot have the aid of friends 
without implicitly confiding in them ; and besides, his opponents, 
and not his supporters, were surely the proper objects of his suspi- 
cion. As to his own committee, nothing" but honour and probity 
w'as ever talked of there — when he was present. The house in 
Guinea Lane was treated as an audacious fictiou of the enemy, 
though nobody entertained a shadow of a doubt of the reality of 
the rival establishment in Yellow Row. When Mr. Medlicott 
repeated, as he did every hour in the day, that he stood for the 
city only on the three conditions of there being no bribery, no 
intimidation, and no treating, he was always lustily cheered, and 
by none so loud as by his attorney, who had organized as perfect 
a system of corruption in all its branches, as ever was recorded 
in a blue book. Not even Mr. Broad and Dr. Page were cog- 
nizant of all the lengths to which Reynard went ; but as to Mr. 
Medlicott, he was completely blinded by being led round the 
town to canvass, in due form, the identical knaves who had their 
bribes already in their pockets, for this was a ceremony with 
which that astute and experienced agent never dispensed. As 
to the treating, it was going on merrily all the time in at least 
twenty public-houses and places of entertainment, but nowhere 
so profusely as at the Parrot, under Mr. Medlicott’s very nose ; 
which naturally made many think that he must have had a cold 
during the contest, as he never smelt the roast beef or the gin, 
though the former was turning on a dozen spits, and the latter 
flowing in rivers and torrents. 

The worst of all this was, that in truth it was a superfluity 
of naughtiness. It was a waste of that commodity which Mr. 
Jonathan Wild, in his philosophy of knavery, considered too good 
a thing to be thrown away — a waste of roguery and mischief. 
The Parrots greatly over-estimated the strength and resources of 
the Magpies, who, having little or nothing but bribery io depend 
on, and not so much cash in their bank as their opponents, had 
already renounced all hopes of success, and only kept their can- 
didate in the field to harass and worr) Mr. Medlicott and enhance 


REUBEN MEDLIOOTT; 


851 


the market-price of votes. Mr. Pig wid free n himself acted very dis- 
creetly ; he freely and handsomely expended Mr. Barsac’s money, 
but took heed not to encroach on his own funds, so as to have 
the fair borough of Blarney always to fall back upon in the last 
resort.. In fact, before the election took place, all doubt as to 
Mr. Medlicott’s return was at an end. All that remained was to 
go through the riotous farce at the hustings, the usual dumb-show 
of addressing the electors, the perils of chairing, and the dangers 
of the dinner. 


CHAPTER XHL 

A POLITICAL VICTORY FOLLOWED BY A DOMESTIC TRIUMPH. 

The election was a cross between a farce and a riot ; it is scarcely 
possible to describe it more accurately. Fortunately, l.owever, 
Mr. Pigwidgeon was not able to keep the poll open ft >r more 
than a single day, so that the scene of hubbub and folly proved 
a short one. The candidates were proposed and seco; ided in 
dumb-show. A forest of hands were raised for Mr. M sdlicott, 
but a considerable grove also were displayed in Dr. Pigwidgeon’s 
favour. Which were the dirtier was very uncertain; and the 
«ame doubt existed as to the comparative sweetness of tl ie voices 
that shouted for the rival interests. No other voices, ot‘ course, 
were audible, not even those of the candidates, except a few 
vords at intervals, through the enormous tumult of the day. 
VIr. Pigwidgeon addressed the electors first, amidst terrific cries 
)f “No Pigwidgeons !” “Go back to Blarney !” “No quacks !” 
‘ Who sent for you ?” “ You are only fit for Ireland 1” “ You 
ha’n’t doctor us !” “ He is only an apothecary’s boy ; go back to 
he mortar !” One of the Parrots, a fellow of stentorian lungs, 
>roposed a groan for the apothecary. 

“I am not ashamed of my father!” — roared the orator, 
'iirectly the groaning ceased. 

“ More shame for you !” cried a free-born British cobbler in 
is green apron, standing at the speaker’s elbow, 

“ I will say this for my father,” — continued the candidate. 

“ The less you say about him the better !” re-bellowed the 

obbler. 


852 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


“ Say something for yourself!” bawled another, who looked 
very like a tinker. 

“ Hear me, then !” cried the doctor. 

“ No, we won’t !” from the tinker, who had just before ad 
jured him to speak. 

“ Hear Pigwidgeon !” 

“ Hear Medlicott ! M 

“ A has , Pigviggin !” 

A rush was made at the Frenchman by a flight of the Mag- 
pies, but a flock of the Parrots came to his aid. and there was a 
wild engagement for some minutes, during whicn the umbrella 
again did conspicuous duty on the side of the Reubenites. 
When the fray was over, Mr. Pigwidgeon attempted once more 
to get a hearing. At the same moment, the restless Adolphe, 
assisted by Mr. Broad’s foreman, displayed a blue silk banner of 
enormous size, upon which the fingers of Louise had embroidered, 
in huge scarlet letters, the words — 

“Hurrah for Medlicott, the World’s Friend!” 

Scarcely was it unfolded before it w r as torn to a hundred 
shreds by the excited Magpies ; but another flag was in readiness, 
inscribed — 

“ Medlicott, and Universal Sympathy !” 

“Universal humbug!” screamed a dozen Pigwidgeonites ; 
and the second flag met the fate of the first, after a somewhat 
longer scramble, during which some heads were broken, if any 
faith was to be placed in sounds. 

The orator made a final effort after this last episode, and was 
proceeding to tell the constituency what good things he* would 
give them in return for their votes. If they liked cheap bread, 
he was the man to provide it for them. If they liked cheap 
ugar, he would give it to them also. If they fancied cheap 
tea and coffee — ” 

“ Perhaps you would fancy a cheap egg,” cried a fellow, 
lying in ambush in a corner with a basket of them, and flinging, 
as he spoke, one of those highly constitutional missiles with aim 
so fair that it struck the candidate right on his breast, and in- 
stantly delivering its liquid contents, provided him with a buff 
waistcoat, to the infinite satisfaction of the Parrots, and the 
amusement of not a few of the Magpies themselves. But this 
was a game at which two parties could play. There was an op- 
position egg-store in another corner of the court-house. A battle 
of eggs ensued. Eggs flew like the fowl they weie designed by 


358 


OR, THE JOMING MAN. 

♦ 

nature to bring into the world, unless we suppose that the uses 
of a contested election were among those which Providence ex- 
pressly contemplated in ordaining the generation of birds. Eggs 
darkened the air. Eggs flew like shot in a battle, or rather like 
shells, only that they were not charged with such deadly ingre- 
dients. Sometimes in the tug of .war a Magpie’s egg met a Par- 
rot’s egg, and the momentum of each being instantly destroyed by 
the other, the united yolks and albumens fell, in a torrent of whits 
and yellow, upon the head of some unlucky pot-walloper in the 
crowd. Several burgesses looked as if they had bay wigs ; others 
as if their hats had fallen into basins of batter for pancakes. Some 
more unfortunate wights received the discharge in a more direct 
and unpleasant fashion indeed, on all parts of their persons, 
even their noses and mouths, which disgusted them beyond 
measure with such practical joking, and made them perceive, in a 
twinkling, how grossly indecent pranks of the kind were on the 
solemn occasion of an election. It was well for Reuben that the 
storm of eggs was subsided, and the elements of it spent, before 
his turn came to take his place- in front of the hustings. But if 
he was not so bespattered with one kind of nastiness as his oppo- 
nent, he got even more of another. He was assailed with a thou- 
sand opprobrious imputations, supplied by Mr. Griffin’s articles. 

“ Who burned his grandfather’s house ?” 

“ Are you a parson, or a lawyer ? What are you ?” 

“ He’s a Quaker, — you won’t do for us, friend Reuben !” 

“ He’s a Jack-of-rall- trades 1” 

“ What are you now, Mr. Medlicott ?” 

“ Play us a tune on the fiddle I” 

¥ Who ran away with his grandmother ?” 

“ Have you her love-letters about you ?” 

“ Gentlemen ! ” — cried Reuben imploringly, “ one word — 
hear me speak — ” 

“ That’s all you can dv-^jt’s not speeches we want !” 

“ One word, in common justice.” — 

“No Parrots for us !” shouted the political tinker. 

“No Magpies roared the free-born cobbler. 

“ Gentlemen ! if you send me into the House” — 

“ But we won’t !” 

“ Yes we will ! we will ! Three cheers for Mr. Medlicott. 
Mr. Medlicott, the friend of the world ! ” vociferated Dr. Page, 
With a voice that put all c ther voices down, and triumphed, for a 
moment, completely over the general din. 


354 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


Reuben now thought Lis time was come for a hearing, but in 
vain ; for the other party must cheer their candidate also, and in 
cheering him they displayed a banner with the motto, “ Pig- 
widgeon, and Purity of Election !” which so exasperated the 
Medlicott faction that they made a furious onset to get possession 
of the flag ; stones were flung on both sides, and a fray com- 
menced which soon became so serious that a body of special 
constables were hastily sworn in, and the court-house was cleared 
by order of the magistrates. 

Mr. Medlicott was so well surrounded and stoutly guarded, 
by a troop of his friends, that he suffered little more in the tu- 
mult than the loss of his bouquet and the derangement of his 
hair ; but Mr. Broad had his coat torn to ribbons ; Dr. Page 
was reduced literally to rags ; and poor Mr. Beauvoisin was 


nearly in the same condition, besides losing his umbrella, which 


had performed such exploits. Upon the other side, Mr. Pig wid- 
geon thought himself well off to escape with a black eye ; while 
as to his immediate satellites, there was scarcely a whole coat, or 
an integral pair of inexpressibles, among them all. 

In this condition of affairs the candidates went to the poll, 
the result of which has been already intimated. Mr. Pigwidgeon 
had scarcely fifty votes, after all his expenditure of breath and 
money. He pretended, of course, that the electors who had pro- 
mised him were either corrupted or intimidated by Mr. Medli- 
cott ; and formally protesting against all the proceedings, made , 
a precipitate and prudent retreat from the town. 

His disappearance restored comparative peace and order ; his 
party, wanting a leader, shrunk into instant insignificance ; they 
seemed even to have lost the power of shouting, for when Mr. 
Medlicott, reaching the goal of his ambition, was declared by the 
Sheriff the successful candidate, and one of the sitting members 
for Chichester, the speech which he made to return thanks was 
not only patiently heard, but enthusiastically received and ap- 
plauded by an immense concourse of the citizens. 

So tranquil was the meeting, that his mother, wife, and 
mother-in-law, accompanied by the radiant Madame Beauvoisin, 
were conducted by Mr. Cox to the self-same seats in the gallery 
of the court-house which they had occupied many yearn before 
to witness Reuben’s first oratorical display. There was not a 
more joyful mother in England at that instant than the elder 
Mrs. Medlicott. She recollected in this hour of justifiable exul- 
tation the flattering parallel which Mr. Primrose had once drawn 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


355 


between herself and a celebrated Roman mother ; and though 
there was nothing particularly pathetic in any part of the speech 
which her son made upon that occasion, it nevertheless brought 
tears into the eyes of our English Cornelia ; nor were hers the 
only moist ones of the party ; it was observable that Reuben’s 
tender and teeming little wife pulled down her veil more than 
once while he was speaking, probably moved by similar feelings 
of pride and rapture, and atfected in the same natural manner. 

But the blisses and triumphs of the matrons, great as they 
were, were destined to be still greater in the course of that me- 
morable evening. Not many hours elapsed after the chairing 
(which was a peaceful, though a noisy ceremony), before Mary 
Medlicott made the heart of every human being under the Vicar’s 
roof, and many a heart under other roofs besides, tingle and leap 
j with joy, by selecting that auspicious day to bring a son into the 
world. The church bells had scarcely done ringing for Reuben’s 
t political victory, when they were set agoing again in acknow- 
[ ledgment of his domestic achievements. 

“ Sure such a day as this was never seen,” said the benevolent 
and jolly Mr. Oldport, who made all the haste in his power, con- 
i! sidering his corns and his corpulency, to congratulate his friend 
upon the accumulation of blessings in his family, 
j “ This day, Oh ! Mr. Doodle, is a day indeed,” replied the 
Vicar ; “ let us have a magnum of my oldest port to celebrate 
it. Come, Mr. Cox, come, Doctor, come all our sympathising 

( friends ; and you, Reuben, lay aside your senatorial dignity, and 
set the round table and glasses under the walnut-tree. Your 
mother shall bring us the new citizen of Chichester, and we will 
c drink his health and safe arrival in a bumper.” 

Mrs. Medlicott, as usual, appeared the moment she was talked 
of, carrying in her arms the illustrious little stranger, of whom 
she was as vain as if she had borne him herself, and in whose 
forehead she had already discovered all the protuberances indica- 
tive of the most brilliant talents. 

The child was enthusiastically admired, and his father was 
i overwhelmed with applause. 

The Canon held his glass so awkwardly while he contem- 
plated the infant prodigy, that some drops of the rosy liquor 
overflowed and fell on the child’s face. 

“ A jolly christening,” said Mr. Cox to Reuben, “ your son, 
sir, is baptised with port.” There was great laughing at the 
: incident. 



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• 


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OB, THE COMING MAN. 


357 


BOOK THE NINTH. 


“Now, the melancholy god protest thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of parti- 
floured taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put 
wo sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere ; for that’s 
t that makes a good voyage of nothing .” — Twelfth Night. 


ARGUMENT. 

“ The fancy the vulgar have for men of showy abilities, whose spark- 
ling often proceeds from the intrinsic shallowness of their parts, is not un- 
like the taste which may be observed to prevail of a shining night among the 
spectators of the heavens for dancing meteors, shooting stars, and all 
sorts of flickering vapoury splendours, while the great and permanent fea- 
tures of the firmament shine unnoticed, — neither honoured for their gran- 
deur nor admired for their beauty. You shall find the superb planets the 
true and old-established nobility of the sky — mighty Saturn, with his 
wondrous rings; belted Jove, with his brilliant staff of satellites; love- 
liest Venus, sister to the Moon, with the warrior Mars, in his brazen pano- 
ply : — you shall fiud them all slighted and overlooked, while the herd of 
star-gazers are intent upon some skipping exhalation, or some parvenu of 
a comet with the beard of a Jew, or the tail of a baboon. The vulgar 
notion of genius is something meteoric, and, above all things, vagrant in 
its habits, — sparkling, rather than shining, — shooting in all directions, 
rather than advancing in any, — more of a squib than a star, or, at most, a 
star without a pole or an orbit. 

“ Such are the luminaries the multitude gaze at; and applaud, while 
the genuine lights of the world — condescending to have spheres, and to 
keep them, and pursuing their respective paths, whether of high studies 
or serious duties — are neglected for the very fixity of their purposes and 
! steadiness of their flame. In fact, there is no such plodder as talent of 
the higher order ; no drudge like genius, whether it works in the mines of 
truth, to extend the boundaries of science ; labours with the soldier in 
the field, to protect the frontiers of the kingdom ; or toils in the cabinet 
or the senate, in the still more arduous cares of legislation and govern- 
ment. 

“ True ambition, inseparable from great powers, is content with 
j magnificent results, and never impatient -with the homely and undistin- 
guished steps that lead to them. The quality of patience enters largoly 


358 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ,* 


into the idea of genius. The man of genius imitates the operations of 
nature, which are not grander in their issues than slow, and generally 
minute, in their processes. Perseverance not only ‘ keeps honour bright/ 
but is an essential qualification for the winning of the brightest honours ; 
Ambition has this in common with his illegitimate brother Avarice ; the 
former, like the latter, prospers in his designs more frequently by grad- 
ual increments and advances, than by sudden enterprises and surprising 
strokes. More men reach the summits of the world by climbing than by 
flying. It is possible, even, to creep into renown, in long a , as Hip- 
pocrates laid it down — Hippocrates, whose life my friend Primrose has 
not yet had time to write. The gate of the Temple of Fame turns upon 
two hinges — Virtue and labour. The wise poet put this lesson into 
the mouth of his wise as well as pious hero — 

“ ‘ Disce puer virtutem ex me, verumque laborem.” 

* lulus had a sager father than Icarus. 

“ ‘ Why, what a peevish fool was he of Crete, 

That taught his son the office of a fowl, 

And yet, for all his wings, the fowl was drowned.* 

“ But in Daedalus, the legendary artist immortalised by the labours of 
science, we may recognise, if we please, the type of honour legitimately 
won by patient intellectual toil ; in which case the only fool will be he 
who disdains the same humble track to glory, and plunged into the Icarian 
sea, expressly to point our moral. There are architects of their own 
fortunes, and there are architects, also, of their own misfortunes. Who 
reckons on the stability of a house run up in a night ? Faery palaces are 
only durable in song. The song itself owes its vitality to the common 
source of all great works and great reputations.” — A fragment from the 
Essays, Moral, Economical, Political, and Miscellaneous, of the late Mr. 
Reuben Medlicott. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE ASCENT OF A SKY-ROCKET# 

There is a certain time in the lives of all men, who start in 
the world with fervent hopes and ambitious aspirations, when 
they are apt to look round about them, and measure their suc- 
cesses or their failures by the positions of their friends and con- 
temporaries. If they do not themselves institute such compari- 
sons, there are people enough ready to do it for them. In the 
case of Mr. Medlicott, how now did the matter stand ? The 
men who may be said to have entered the race along with him, 
and to have been in some measure his competitors, were Henry 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


359 


Winning, Primrose, and De Tabley. Of Vigors, bis only other 
intimate friend at Hereford, he had entirely lost sight from the 
time of his leaving school. Henry Winning was now an eminent 
lawyer, making a large income, talked of as a likely man to 
be the next solicitor-general, and looking out for an introduction 
to parliament, not as a mere freak or speculation, but as a step 
indispensably necessary to be taken at the brilliant point he had 
now reached in his professional career. De Tabley had also 
prospered. Combining intellectual with convivial tastes — and, 
fortunately for the cause' of polite hilarity, they enter into com- 
bination extremely well — he had early fixed his desires upon the 
possession of some permanent and well-appointed office under 
the crown ; and, through the interest of his friends, he had 
found, in the Comptrollership of the Navy- Victualling Depart- 
ment, just the snug and appropriate berth he coveted. With the 
fortune of Mr. Primrose the reader is already acquainted. He 
entered the Church soon after the events related in the previous 
book, and became the bishop’s chaplain and son-in-law imme- 
diately afterwards, with all the fair emoluments, and fairer pros- 
pects, appertaining to the two situations. Reuben, on the other 
hand, was in the position of a man who had successively em- 
braced and abandoned two professions ; he had quarrelled with 
his best friends; he had no property but a few shares in some 
Brazilian mines, and no income but what he derived from the 
poor little wife whom he had so daringly married, and who had 
already made him the father of three children, including little 
Chichester, who had such a merry christening, and now promised 
to be a formidable rival to his distinguished relative, the right 
wonderful Tom Wyndham. 

To balance all this, however, he was no longer the “ coming 
Man.” The Man was eome. He had now only to fulfil his 
promises — only to realise the expectations of that portion of the 
public in whose eyes he filled a space so considerable. He was 
a member of parliament, invested with one six-hundred-and-fifty- 
eighth of its importance, and wielding the same fraction of its 
vaunted omnipotence. He franked letters, made laws, put 
questions to Cabinet ministers, and taxed his fellow-subjects. 
Brave privileges these ! but he would have enjoyed them more 
comfortably and securely, had he been indebted for them to 
something more solid than the repute of a silver tongue He 
entered the House of Commons, not merely as an adventurer, 
Lut an adventurer who had failed in several enterprises before 


860 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 

he tried statesmanship and speculated on the senate. It is easier 
to "talk of independence under such circumstances than to 'get 
credit for it, and easier to commend Andrew Marvel than follow 
x his example. Mr. Medlicott, however, started with only too 
rigid notions of purity ; for he not merely resolved to seek noth- 
ing for himself, but to ask nothing for anybody else ; which 
latter determination was by no means as acceptable as the for- 
mer to many of his friends and acquaintances, particularly in 
the place which had sent him to parliament. 

Before parliament met, Mr. Medlicott took a house in London, 
or rather Mr. and Mi’s. Primrose took one for him, and laughing 
enough they had about it. 

In London there are many very great streets which contain 
very small houses, so as to enable people of small income* to live 
in the closest neighbourhood with people of the largest fortunes. 
For instance, in Piccadilly, wedged in amongst the palaces of 
princes and mansions of peers, as it were to fill up a crevice and 
keep the street steady, there stood at the period we speak of, and 
probably is still standing, a dwelling so diminutive as to suggest 
the idea, that after the completion of the stately houses adjacent, 
some half-dozen bricks and a couple of rafters had remained over, 
which the architect, that nothing might be lost, and to demon- 
strate the universality of his genius, had combined, with t^e aid 
of a hod of mortar and a few twopenny tacks, into a residence 
for some dapper little bachelor weary of wife-hunting, or a Lilli- 
putian spinster desperate of a husband. It was just the sort of 
thing that General Tom Thumb might take for the season ; but 
still it had most of the usual members and appurtenances of an 
ordinary London house. A hall in which you might conceive 
Flibbertigibbet waiting with Oberon’s great coat, a parlour where 
a dozen knights of faery-land might be comfortable enough 
round a table as large as a cheese, a drawing-room in which her 
Majesty Queen Titania might give a children’s ball, a couple of 
bed-chambers to match, dressing-rooms to correspond, an attic in 
proportion, while subterraneously the baby-house had a kitchen 
where a very small cook might manage to dress a very small 
dinner, with a cellar in which pint bottles ranked as magnums, 
just as in the kitchen Devonshire chickens claimed the consider- 
ation of Norfolk turkeys. 

In short it was the smallest mansion in London, but then it 
was neat as it was small. You might have fancied that it had 
oome from Holland in a case of Dutch toys ; the bricks looked 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


361 


as if they were rouged daily ; the wonder was hew it ever stood 
all the mopping and twigging, the brushing and brooming, to 
which it was plain it must have been incessantly subject. 

Such was 144£, Piccadilly. Mr. Primrose said it ought to 
have been 144^, for it would certainly have taken four such 
houses to make one of the houses in Pall Mall, such a house, for 
instance, as he was lodging in himself at the time, next door to 
his father-in-law. 

“ They will not be apt to break themselves in pictures, at all 
events,” said Mrs. Primrose, “ except in miniatures.” 

“ Nor in books, except in diamond editions,” said the 
Chaplain. 

“ I think the house would do very well,” said De Tabley, 
who was with them, “ only for the parlour ; I don’t see where 
we are to dine. Six will be a formidable party here.” 

“We shall converse the more agreeably,” said Hyacinth ; 
“ the only difficulty I see is where to put the Bishop, if ever 
Reuben is reconciled to him.” 

Mary Medlicott was enchanted with her baby-house, as it was 
very properly called, both by reason of its size, and the ages of 
the majority of its inhabitants. So far w r as she from thinking it 
too small, that before the Easter recess there was a rumour in the 
family that an increase of the infant population was an event 
likely to happen at no very distant period. The honourable 
member’s chief difficulty was to find room for his books, which 
were already a numerous collection, for he had been accumulat- 
ing ever since he left school, and had now amassed something 
near two or three thousand volumes. However, by availing him- 
self of every nook and corner in every room of the house, and 
even upon the stairs and landing-places, he managed to find 
space enough for his immediate wants. He now, for the first 
time, found use for the box of tools which he had been presented 
with when a boy by the workmen at Westbury ; for he was able 
to put up a variety of neat little shelves with his own hands, 
which spared him not only the annoyance, but the expense of 
bringing carpenters into the house. 

He was thus employed on the day before the House first met 
for the dispatch of business, the little Elinor and Hannah tod- 
dling after him, looking sharp after the chips, which were their 
perquisites, when a deputation from the Peace Society waited 
upon him to place a petition in his hands, and solicit his attend- 
ance at their next general meeting. 

16 


362 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


Reuben received and addressed them with th= hammer in 
his hand ; and illustrated by that instrument ingeniously enough 
the great secret of efficient political agitation, which consisted, he 
said, in a constant succession of blows, every blow driving the 
question a step further, a noisy find a monotonous process un- 
doubtedly, but the only practicable mode of hammering a new 
principle or a broad view into the public understanding. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Medlicott, tapping his library table re- 
peatedly with the tool he was talking of, “ this is what we all 
Ought to do with every great popular question of the day ; nevu* 
stop hammering in the House and out of the House, battling in 
season and out of season, until we succeed in carrying our 
points.” 

“ Thou wilt be always sure to hit the nail on the head,” said 
Friend Harvey, v 

“ Thou hast hit the nail on the head already,” said Friend 
Wilson, using his nose, as usual, as an organ of speech, “ when 
thou speakest of battling in season and out of season. He that 
regardeth the winds will not sow, saith. Solomon. If our Peace 
Society will follow thy excellent advice, it is strongly borne in 
upon my mind that thou wilt live to sit under the olive-tree thou 
hast been instrumental in planting; and peradventure we shall’ 
see the day when there will not be iron enough in England to 
make a cannon-ball.” 

“ We must keep a little for our sledges,” said Reuben, with 
a bland smile, and bowed the deputation out so cleverly that he 
must either have taken a lesson on that head from Madame 
Beauvoisin, or studied Mr. Taylor’s royal road to statesmanship 
very profoundly. We have mentioned this interview with the 
Peace Society only to show with what notions and intentions 
Mr. Medlicott entered Parliament, how deliberately he paved the 
way for his own failure, and adopted the very system most cal- 
culated of all others to ensure it. 

Reuben’s idea of working questions, and his mechanical elu- 
cidation of it, were regarded by his own clique, and by his 
friends the Quakers especially, as prodigies of wisdom and wit. 
A careful report of what he said to the deputation appeared in 
the newspapers, and caused a good ‘d.eal of amusement, not un- 
mixed with alarm in many quarters. The men of business were 
frightened at the prospect before them. Ministers, whose charac- 
ters depended upon forcing a certain ampunt. of legislation 
through the House before Easter, read of Mr. Medlicott and his 

hammer with feelings the most ncomiortablc. 

© 


OK, FHE COMING MAN. 363 

“ Awful threatenings these,” said one secretary to another, 
walking down St. James’s Street. 

“ These talking men,” said his colleague, “ are like the dog 
in the manger; they neither do any business themselves, nor 
permit us to do it.” 

“ Who is this Mr. Medlicott, do you know ?” 

“ Here is a man who will tell us, — eh, De Tabley, who is 
this formidable Mr. Medlicott ?” 

De Tabley gave a substantially correct, but a good-natured ac- 
count of his friend. The ministers, however, cared very little to 
hear of Reuben’s amiable private qualities, having had long ex- 
perience of the truth, that a man may have every domestic virtue, 
and yet be a bore of the first magnitude in the relations of public 
life. 

“The hammer,” said the Bishop, reading about it, just 
at the same moment, at breakfast, in his lodgings in Pall Mall, 
“ everything is to be done by hammering in future, — let me tell 
him the hammer is a tool not so easy to use as he imagines ; I 
know that by experience. I remember one day at Westbury 1 
thought I could hit the nail on the head as well as any carpenter ; 
I certainly hit the nail but it was my thumb-nail ; that was what 
I paid for my hammering. I never took a hammer in my hand 
since ; but wise men learn by experience, which fools never do.” 

Still Mr. Medlicott did not fail in the first instance. He 
spoke on the Address, an occasion eminently favourable to his 
peculiar powers, from the multiplicity of topics through which 
it is not only permissible, but necessary to ramble, in following 
the miscellaneous subjects introduced into the Royal speech 
When he rose, there was that sort of buzz which is at once flat- 
tering and exciting to a speaker. There was, however, min 
gled with it the slightest possible tittering here and there, through 
the unsually crowded House, perhaps occasioned by the indiscreel 
zeal with which his friends had blown the trumpet before him, 
but more probably provoked by the elaborateness of his toilette, 
particulary the foppish arrangement of his hair, his white waist 
coat, and a pair of canary-coloured gloves, which at once recalled 
to the memory of Winning and De Tabley, seated under the 
gallery, the gloves that Barsac was in the habit of wearing at 
his suppers when he carved the ducks. But this slight disposi 
tion to laugh, whatever was the cause of it, ceased almost as soon 
as it showed itself; and Mr. Medlicott delivered himself with 
eclat of the only speech of equal length which it was ever his lot 


364 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS j 


to make in the Senate without the most painful and systematic 
interruptions. Experienced parliament-men saw clearly enough 
that his style of speaking would never suit that assembly ; but, 
nevertheless, as a first speech, it was listened to with polite 
attention, and generally well received ; everybody was surprised 
at the profusion of flowers, illustrations, anecdotes and quotations 
scattered through it; men of taste and judgment were offended, 
of course ; but with a considerable number it passed for a superb 
effort, and their cheers at the time, and their congratulations 
afterwards, left a strong impression to the same effect upon the 
mind of the young member himself. 

Probably the few months that succeeded this his first and 
only successful effort, were the most flourishing and satisfactory 
of his whole career in public. He had now, although he knew 
it not, like Wolsey, 

“ Touched the highest point of all his greatness.” 

The rocket had gone off, exceedingly brilliant in its ascent, 
and “the observed of all observers;” but it was shoi;t-lived as it 
was brilliant, and no sooner did it shoot to its full height than it 
began to fall, much diminished in lustre, and only emitted fitful 
sparks at intervals, before it went out altogether and completed 
its destiny. An event, too, that occurred at Chichester during 
this period, made a substantial addition to its prosperity, although 
in itself as melancholy as it was sudden and unexpected. This 
was the decease of the good Mr. Broad, the most zealous and 
devoted of all Mr. Medlicott’s friends, and who, in retiring from the 
world, gave an irrefragable proof of the sincerity of his friendship, 
by leaving him property to the amount of upwards of ten thousand 
pounds, a most important reinforcement of his slender means. 
It was also during this smiling period that, at the solicitation of 
many of his admirers, he sat to an eminent portrait-painter for 
his full-length picture, which was duly exhibited at Somerset 
House, among the other works of the modern British pencil. It 
attracted particular notice on account of the interesting situation 
in which Mr. Medlicott was represented. He was painted in his 
library, habited in the same sort of robe which his aunt had 
formerly presented him with, and diverting himself with his 
children. The table at his side was covered with drafts of bills, 
the floor was strewn with blue-books, upon a pile of which in the 
back-ground his wife was seated, intently poring over the Mirror 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


365 


of Parliament, no doubt perusing her husband’s speech. To do 
Mr. Medlicott justice, this egregious piece of absurdity was not oi 
his' own devising; it was the doing of Friend Harvey principally, 
who, having once conceived this mode of treating the subject, 
never rested until he persuaded everybody about him that there 
was no other way of doing it justice. 

The Primroses particularly lamented indiscretions of this kind, 
and so did the worthy Mrs. Wyndham (always a warm and 
steadfast friend), because they tended greatly to increase the 
difficulty of bringing about a reconciliation between Reuben and 
his grandfather, which it was their desire of all things to accom- 
plish. There was a portrait of the Bishop in the same exhibition, 
and by mere accident the two pictures chanced to be placed 
side by side, when the gallery was first opened to the public. 
At this the Bishop was so angry that he wrote to the Society of 
Artists, and requested them to place his portrait anywhere else 
in the room, or if that was not possible, to remove it altogether. 
The picture was actually removed to gratify his caprice, which 
was the less excusable, as he had himself entertained a serious 
design of having the portrait of little Tom executed on the same 
canvass with his own, and had only been diverted from it by the 
sensible remonstrances of his wife and daughter. 

We must, however, do the Bishop justice to state that he 
did not contribute one farthing to the fund for resisting Mr. Med- 
licott’s return to parliament. What he might have done, if 
Reuben’s enemies had been more fortunate in their choice of a 
rival candidate, is matter of speculation ; but he had no notion 
of spending his money to bring in such a person as Mr. Pigwid- 
geon ; that was a length the Bishop’s personal resentment did 
not transport him to, and accordingly he left Mr. Barsac to bear 
the whole expense of the contest, a just punishment for that 
gentleman’s mean and malignant conduct in the transaction. 


CHAPTER II. 

AIRS AND AFFECTATIONS — DISCORDS AND RECONCILEMENTS.' 

It may seem surprising that several months should have elapsed 
without a seconu speech from Mr. Medlicott, particularly ^ter a 
first effort which might fairly have been considered a triumph. 


866 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


In fact it was not his fault that he did not make many orations 
in the same period ; he came.down to the House at least a dozen 
times, fully prepared to address it, an intention of which his toi- 
lette was always the most palpable evidence ; but between the 
difficulty of catching the Speaker’s eye, the countings out, and 
now and then the failure to make a House (which was sometimes 
more a personal matter than he suspected), his preparations were 
as often thrown away, his intentions baffled, and more than once 
parties of his friends disappointed, who had flocked to the 
strangers’ gallery to hear him. As to his preparations, indeed, 
it is not correct to say that they were thrown away absolutely, 
for it was one of the advantages of his manner of treating most 
questions, that a speech of his never suffered much by postpone- 
ment ; if he failed to make it in one debate, he made it in 
another ; and when the worst came to the worst, there was al- 
ways the Freemasons’ Tavern, or Exeter Hall, where there was 
no doubt of its making a hit. 

Upon the whole, however, he had time enough on his hands 
for other employments than speech-making, and he divided it in 
fair proportions between preparing drafts of various bills, to im- 
mortalise his name as a law-giver, and defending his seat, (which 
he did successfully,) against the petition of Dr. Pig-widgeon. 

This was one of the dining eras of Mr. Medlicott’s variegated 
life. He brushed up his practical knowledge of gastronomy, 
revived the admirable corkscrew he had formerly invented, 
spared no expense with his banquets to have them recherche, 
and might have generally succeeded in making pleasant parties 
if he had been less parliamentary and loquacious at the head of 
his table, and if his inordinate vanity and desire to be in every- 
body’s good graces had not led him to bring people together in 
the strangest possible groups, utterly incapable of amalgamation. 

When the company was chosen from the list of his old 
friends and his near relatives and connections, all was well ; and 
in like manner when the Harveys and Trevors came to a little 
social meeting at 144£, nothing could be more successful of its 
kind ; but Mr. Medlicott made a great mistake in trying to fuse 
his fussy Quakers and dreary Quakeresses, his French adventurers, 
and his Chichester Aldermen, with the men of wit, fashion, and 
parliamentary distinction, whom he was in the habit of inviting 
to his Saturday dinners. Indeed he was too fond of inviting 
people merely because they were personages or celebrities. 
While they honoured his little table, they proportionally fluttered 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


367 


his little wife, poor Mary, with ner simple Quakerly habits and 
inexperience of all stars and ribbons, save the stars in the sky, 
and the plain ribbons in her semi-Quakerly bonnet. Reuben 
was greatly attached and devoted to her ; but, nevertheless, he 
would occasionally invite the pompous Lord Greenwich, or a 
French Marquis with a formidable moustache, or a turbaned at- 
tache of the Turkish embassy with a beard and a scimetar, to 
dine with him on a day wdien perhaps the rest of the company 
were all Obadiahs and Rachaels. Mary dreaded a moustache 
exceedingly, having never seen one at meeting, and having early 
associated everything hirsute with ideas of wars and tumults. 
Captain Shun field was the only hairy man she felt easy in com- 
pany with, but nobody feared the innocent Captain Shunfield. 
By-the-bye, he had learned to sing since we met him last ; but, 
as he never sang war-songs, but was more given to serenades 
and lullabies, his voice rather mitigated than increased the effect 
of his whiskers. 

Pleasant days, however, were spent in 144£, Piccadilly. It 
was the fault of the M. P. himself if there were not more of them, 
and if they were not always as pleasant as they certainly some- 
times were. 

The dinners were little, of course, because the kitchen and 
the dining-room wer6, as we have seen, on the smallest scale. 
On one occasion, when Mrs. Medlicott apologised to her friends 
for having only shrimp sauce with the fish, Mr. Primrose amused 
them by observing that no excuse was called for, as the house 
was too small for lobsters. Sometimes, indeed, the dinners, if 
not too small for the house, were too small for the society. It 
occasionally happened that a few of the Chichester people would 
come up to London, either with a petition, or smelling after a 
place or a job. In the lobby of the House one day, Mr. Medli- 
cott met the two Aldermen, who had supported him so strenu- 
ously, and he thought it his duty to entertain them. Perhaps it 
was ; but it was still more clearly his duty, having invited them, 
to make proper provision for their animal wants. Just think of 
the dinner he set before Aldermen Codd and Gosling, and at 
nine o’clock, when their appetites called for barons of beef. A 
potage with a fine name, which they took to be chicken-broth ; 
a mackerel a-la-maitre-d'hotel, absolutely Greek to their wor- 
ships ; a Devonshire chicken a-u-t ruffes — why, he might as well 
have served up a canary; a plat of rognons , which he did not 
even acquaint them were only Frenchified kidneys ; — in short, a 


308 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

Spanish ham on the sideboard was the only dish in the room 
that was not either above their understanding, or beneath their 
notice, and even of that they could only get a Vauxhall slice or 
two. What was it to them that they were attended by a gentle- 
man in a white waistcoat, a powdered footman, and a black boy ? 
v They found themselves much in the situation of reynard at the 
stork’s feast, and retired as soon as they decently could to get 
something substantial in a tavern ; but it was already Sunday 
morning, and not a tavern was open, or would open their doers 
for love or for money. 

The nine o’clock dinner was itself a piece of affectation. 
Ministers dined at eight. There was no reason in the world why 
Mr. Medlicott should not have dined at seven. The Bishop’s 
hour was six, and whenever he heard of his grandson’s invita- 
tions for nine o’clock, he was most indignant at his airs and as- 
sumption, and wondered how any sensible man would dine with 
the coxcomb. When the Primroses dined in Piccadilly, they 
did so almost by stealth, generally when the Bishop dined out 
himself, and always pretending that it was only to tea they were 
going. The Medlicotts more frequently dined with the Prim- 
roses in those days, than the Primroses with the Medlicotts. 
Hyacinth stood in great awe of his master, and never dared t: 
be absent from his side, or at least out of his reach, for many 
hours at a time. Besides, another advantage of the dinners in 
Pall-Mall was that Mi's. Wyndham could now and then manage 
to come to them. 

The favourite nights were those when the House of Lords 
happened to be sitting, for then poor Blanche would be rash or 
unnatural enough to confide her son to his regular nurses, and 
dine with her next-door neighbours, or even accompany them 
to the opera or a play. It was always, however, with fear and 
trembling, lest the debate should prematurely close, and the 
Bishop come thundering home at an irregularly early hour. 
More than once such surprises happened, and the apprehension 
of them kept Blanche in a state of nervousness that spoiled 
half her enjoyment. Upon one occasion, in the middle of a 
pleasant supper, she was suddenly electrified by the coachman’s 
well-known knock at the door of her own lodgings ; she ran 
from the table with only a shawl over her head, and by her 
agility and good fortune got into the house before her husband, 
who, finding her at her post, never dreamed she had been a 
ieserter from her maternal duties. 


OR, THE COMING MAN 


369 


Reuben was most sincerely anxious to be restored to his 
grandfather’s good graces, but it was a ticklish subject to ap- 
proach, and he was always doing something, often, no doubt, 
unavoidably, to increase the difficulties of it. If he could have 
given up the practice of attending all sorts of fanatical meet- 
ings and spouting at them, the Bishop might have been more 
placable ; but Reuben was no longer entirely his own master 
in this respect. He had become almost a slavish instrument in 
the hands of the Quakers, in Harvey’s especially. With all the 
appearance of following and idolising, they in reality command- 
ed him; in fact they had found what is vulgarly called his 
“ blind side,” and turned the discovery to account most shrewd- 
ly and systematically. 

The proceedings of the Peace Society were, of all others, 
the most offensive to Dr. Wyndham, as might have been expect- 
ed from the muscular common-sense that distinguished him. 
He could have forgiven Reuben more easily for joining any other 
association than this ; he could have pardoned his coquetting with 
the Temperance movement, and even his incipient hankerings 
after the Vegetarians; but the stark-staring nonsense of Friend 
Wilson, and the soi-disant apostles of Peace, made him so furi- 
ous, that he sometimes was betrayed into speaking of war with 
less horror and disgust than was quite becoming in a Christian 
prelate. 

If it had not been for Mrs. Wyndham’s strong friendship for 
Reuben, and her perfect understanding of the best way of 
managing her husband, it is questionable if the reconciliation, 
so desirable on all accounts, would ever have taken place. 

Reuben and the Bishop met occasionally ; sometimes in one 
or other of the Houses of Parliament, sometimes in the streets ; 
but the Bishop always affected not to see or recognise him, while 
the sudden aversion of his eyes, or sharp contraction of his brows, 
accompanied perhaps by a short, dry, little contemptuous cough, 
showed plainly enough that he knew him perfectly well. 

Reuben used often to stand at a window with his aunt and 
Hyacinth, observing his grandfather getting into his carriage, 
accompanied by Mrs. Wyndham, the nurse, and the prodigy. 

“ I think,” he said, one day, “ I am provided with as curicius 
a set of relations as any man living ; only think of that pretty 
young woman being my grandmother ; and my old school- 
fellow here, and that brat yonder, being my uncles — uncle 
Hyacinth and unde Tom.” 

16 * 


370 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS*, 


Mrs. Primrose fell back on her cliair laughing. 

His friends then informed Reuben that his grandfather had 
been incensed beyond measure at his giving his son the ostenta- 
tious name of Chichester. He might as well, he said, have call- 
ed him Sussex. Suppose he had christened his son Salisbury, 
what would the world have said ? It reminded him of the block- 
head Barsac wanting him to sleep in a bed with mitres on the 
curtains. The Bishop repeated the name of Chichester ten 
times a day to express his contempt for it ; but sometimes he 
pretended to forget it, and called the child Dorchester and Por- 
chester, and even Gatton upon one occasion. 

His lordship was to dine ihat day with the Prime Minister. 
Reuben proposed that the Primroses should dine with him, and 
perhaps they might prevail upon Mrs. Wyndham to accompany 
them. His aunt shook her head once for the first proposition, 
and twice, still more distinctly, for the second. Hyacinth, how- 
ever, took a sudden fit of independence, and promised for him- 
self and his wife intrepidly. As to Blanche, the question, as 
usual, was whether she would venture to quit her post beside 
uncle Tom’s cot for a few hours. Mrs. Primrose first thought 
she would, then again she thought she wouldn’t; the chaplain’s 
mind alternated the other way. They promised, however, to 
bring Blanche with them, if possible, and the issue was that 
Blanche was courageous too, and saw no reason why she should 
not for once take a quiet dinner with her grandson and old ad- 
mirer. No doubt she was influenced considerably by her wo- 
manly curiosity to see the interior of Mr. Medlicott’s little manage, 
of which she had heard so much ; but she was also beginning to 
feel strongly that the Bishop’s aversion to Reuben was not to be 
overcome by yielding to it so tamely as his friends had hitherto 
done. She never dreamed, however, of dining at Piccadilly that 
day, without acquainting her husband with her intentions ; but 
when she was dressed, and proceeded to his study or dressing- 
room (for the one chamber with him generally served both pur- 
poses), he was just stepping into the coach, and he drove away 
while she was running down stairs to speak to him before he 
went out. 

The ministerial dinner was punctual. Mr. Medlicott’s was 
needlessly and wantonly the reverse. One of his abstird and 
provoking social tricks (for they deserve no more indulgent 
name) was to keep his company waiting, and be the last to en- 
ter his own drawing-room, feigning to be more overwhelmed 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


371 


with state affairs than cabinet-ministers. It was half-pas; nine 
that day before he offered his arm to Mrs. Wyndham to co. duct 
her to dinner. It was past midnight before she got back to her 
lodgings. The Bishop was half-way to bed, and there was such 
a fracas as had never before occurred between them. Blanche, 
though somewhat vexed with herself, was prepared for the scene, 
and comported herself spiritedly and dexterously through it. 
The Bishop, who had put -on his night-cap, but had only par- 
tially disembarrassed himself of his clothes, cut the oddest possible 
figure during the altercation. He threw all his controversial en- 
ergy and virulence into the abuse with which he deluged her. He 
attacked her in his low harsh tones, as a woman, a wife, and a 
mother; he called her a rake, reminded her of her marriage 
vows, and desired to know whether she had made up her mind 
to neglect for the future all her maternal duties. Mrs. Wynd- 
ham never interrupted him, until at length he insinuated that 
she had probably often gone about gadding to dinners and else- 
where, when his back was turned. This charge she at once de- 
nied in a few quiet emphatic words. He did not repeat it. 
Then she took up the other accusations, one after the other, and 
disposed of them successively. As to raking, she had never be- 
fore dined out without him ; and she had not been at a ball the 
whole season, even at Portland Place. With respect to her con- 
jugal duties, she could only say that she had done her best, but 
she hoped his next wife would discharge them more efficiently. 
Finally, as to her motherly offices, she affirmed very decidedly 
that she was the best judge whether they were or were not in- 
compatible with her dining now and then at a friend’s house, 
particularly when that friend was his own grandson. Blanche 
knew very well the effect this was likely to produce. 

“ Don’t call him grandson of mine,” the Bishop growled, as 
he plucked off his apron ; “ I have long ago renounced him, and 
you know it.” 

“ Not with justice, sir,” said Mrs. Wyndham, with decision. 

The Bishop was' white with rage, and ran through a cata- 
logue of Reuben’s offences. 

“ He commenced by burning Try haggard.” 

Blanche congratalated her old husband upon the vigour of 
his memory and the minuteness of his recollections, 

“ He assailed me in public ; he had the spirit to slander a 
clergyman, and the decency to abuse his grandfather.” 

“ He never did abuse you, sir.” 


372 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS | 


u Wliat, not abuse me ! did he not denounce me a renegade, 
or an apostate ?” 

“ No, sir, he did not.” She paused, and slily added, “ He 
did not know you had apostatised, sir, when he made the speech 
you allude to.” 

“ Apostatised ! — you, too, madam !” he rejoined, with uncon- 
trolled amazement at her confidence, and pulling off his cravat 
while he spoke. 

“ You changed your mind, sir. Reuben did not know you 
had changed it. I did not know it myself, although I was your 
wife at the time.” 

“Probably not; I am not in the habit of communicating 
my political opinions to my wives.” 

“ At all events,” pursued Blanche, “ whatever he did or said 
so long ago, it might very properly be forgotten now ; he never 
intentionally offended you, and he has long sincerely regretted 
that he did so without intending it.” 

The Bishop was silent for several minutes, saving the strange 
abnormal sounds which he was in the habit of uttering involun- 
tarily. 

“ How comes it, my dear,” he said at length, in an altered 
and subdued tone, “ how comes it that he has got, of a sudden, 
such a zealous advocate in you ?” 

“ Mr. Medlicott was an old flame of mine, you know, sir, 
that’s one of my reasons for taking his part,” she replied, with 
the utmost gravity, while she picked up his cravat and other 
things which he had strewn on the floor. 

“ Any other ?” he continued, now speaking in the manner of 
a man who really wished to hear the entire of what his opponent 
had to urge. 

“ For your own sake, sir, just as much as for his,” replied 
his wife ; “ nay, more for your own sake a great deal.” 

“An old flame of yours,” murmured the Bishop; “how 
many flames had you, I should like to know ?” 

“ I am not in the habit,” said Blanche, parodying the odd ex- 
pression the Bishop had used a little before, “ of communicating 
my love secrets to my husbands. However, I have no great 
objection to make you my confidant, — upon one condition.” 

He desired her to name it. 

“ You must retract all your abuse of me awhile ago — you 
called me a rake — now am I a rake ?” 

“ It was too strong a word,” said the Bishop. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


373 


u And a careless wife ?” 

“ I don’t think I said that.” 

“ And you said I was an unnatural mother, — is that trie ?” 

“ Polemical habits,” said the Bishop, giving way now to his 
fair opponent right, left, and centre, “lead men sometimes to 
overcharge their statements.” 

“ Well, sir, I’ll now tell you all my love-secrets, — I never 
had but one flame in my life ; unfortunately for myself he was 
shockingly given to the habits you speak of.” 

“ He must try to correct them,” said the Bishop, kissing her. 

“ Naughty habits for a divine, are they not ?” said Blanche, 
radiant with her amiable triumph. 

“Even divines are human,” said her husband. 

“You will be a good Bishop in future.” 

“ I’ll try.” 

“ And a good grandfather.” 

“ I’ll endeavour.” 

“Dr Wyndham was never so foiled in debate from the day 
that he first entered the lists of controversy. Blanche was far too 
discreet to push her victory farther at the time. She said nothing 
more of Mr. Medlicott, but encouraged her husband to talk of 
his dinner at the Minister’s, which he did until he fell asleep. 


CHAPTER IH. 

A SCENE IN KENSINGTON GAKDENS. 

It was an important point gained, bringing Mr. Medlicott back 
into amicable relations with the old Prelate, whose virtues, as well 
as his faults, were thumpers, and who, with his fame, rank, and 
force of character, made a powerful and splendid centre to the 
now rapidly extending family circle. The house was no longer 
divided against itself, and the amiable Blanche had earned the 
blessing of the peace-makers. 

The next morning, at breakfast, to the vast astonishment of 
the Primroses, the Bishop was talking of Reuben as if he had 
never been estranged from him, and calmly discussing with his 
chaplain th e pros and cons of his grandson’s parliamentary suc- 
cess. Hyacinth was hopeful, as became a friend. The B.shop, 


374 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


more sagacious, argued nothing but failure from Mr. Medlicott’s 
unfortunate mental habits, and particularly his morlid craving 
after applause and popularity. He spoke kindly how ever upon 
these points, and even referred with temper to Reuben’s 
dargerous associations with the noisiest and most fanatical 
busy-bodies of the day. Mrs. Wyndham secretely 'cherished a 
hope, that her experienced and strong-minded husband would 
soon begin to exert a useful influence in this respect over his de- 
scendant, and possibly succeed in withdrawing him from some of 
the most objectionable connections in which he was involved : 
out this was a vain expectation. The Bishop was too old a man 
now to engage in the task of reclaiming anybody whatever ; he 
was prepared to lay aside, and he did lay aside, every vestige of 
angry feeling, with the magnanimity that became him ; but in 
the same philosophical spirit, he deliberately laid himself out to 
observe the rest of his grandson’s career, as the mere working 
out of a sort of problem in the science of life ; — giveu, as it were, 
a certain redundancy of the faculty of speech, certain considerable 
powers of memory, a known amount of self-conceit, a certain 
marked deficiency in resolution and perseverance, a wife and 
children, a seat in Parliament, and no stake in the country, — to 
determine what a man’s place in the world will be at the expira- 
tion of a term of years. 

The first meeting between the reconciled parties took place 
accidentally in Kensington Gardens. The Bishop was fond of 
taking a stately walk there now and then, attended by his suit, 
consisting of his wife, the Primroses, the nurse, and Uncle Tom, 
as the infant Wyndham was now generally called in the family. 
The Barsacs were always anxious to meet him there, but they 
were seldom successful, as the Bishop’s times for doing any par- 
ticular thing, or going any particular place, were not the most 
regular. It happened one day, however, that the Barsacs and 
Wyndhams met on the promenade, and formed a most imposing 
procession, marching in two lines, four abreast, the stout old 
Prelate slightly in advance of everybody, On his right, in the 
first line, was the nurse with Tom in her arms ; on his left was 
Mr. Primrose, about whom there was now a good deal of clerical 
foppery, more than the Bishop liked. The Barsacs w T ere in the 
rear, but as close to their right reverend son-in-law as the} 
well could have been without treading on his heels. While they 
proceeded at the proper dignified pace, much noticed by the other 
promenaders, Mr. Barsac, to make himself as agreeable as pos- 


or, tiip: coming man. 375 

sible, began to talk of Parliament with his nsual pomposity, and 
soon fell into his usual way of making dull hits at Keuben. 

“ Eloquence won’t do in the House of Commons now-a-days,” 
said Barsac, — “ if ever I go into Parliament” — 

“ You will avoid that fault,” said the Bishop drily, taking 
lorn out of the nurse’s arms as he spoke, and paying him much 
more respect than he paid his father-in-law. 

“ But, in fact,” persisted the merchant, “ that sort of thing is 
not oratory at all — that’s what I mean to say, my lord.” 

“ What sort of thing ?” asked the Bishop over his shoulder. 

“ You know, my lord, we were talking of Mr. Medlicott’s 
style of speaking ; you don’t call that eloquence ?” 

“ But I do, sir,” replied the Prelate, stiffly. 

Mr. Barsac was meditating how to back out of his unlucky 
criticisms, when Mrs. Wyndham exclaimed — 

“ Oh, I protest there is Mrs. Medlicott and her baby under 
the trees yonder !” 

“ Where ? which is Mrs. Medlicott ?” asked the Bishop, 
with anxiety, turning round to his wife. 

Mrs. Wyndham pointed her out. 

“ I’ll go to her and make her acquaintance,” said the Bishop, 
— “ Do you hold Tom,” — and forgetting that the nurse was at 
his elbow, as well as his chaplain (who, indeed, often performed 
the duty of a bonne d'enfans), he placed Tom in the arms of the 
astonished Barsac, whose regard for his waistcoat and his nose- 
gay made him always entertain the liveliest horror of infants of 
that age. Little cared the Bishop how Tom treated the mer- 
chant’s gay bunch of exotics ; he advanced to poor Mary Med- 
licott with a vigorous cordiality that charmed his wife and 
daughter, to whom this was a moment of the deepest interest. 
Mary, always timid before grandees, and apt to be alarmed by 
big wigs, was no sooner fluttered by the unexpectedness of this 
rencontre, than she was calmed and encouraged by the frankness 
and heartiness of the old man’s voice and manner. He shook 
her by the hand, said he was to blame for not having known her 
before, but it was better late than never, and then he asked for 
her husband and her children with all the kindness of his softest 
hours. 

w Mr. Medlicott is not far off,” said Mary, still tremulous, but 
more with pleasure than awe ; “ he left me only this instant, to 
show Chichester the swans.” 

“ And how is the little Chichester ? I have heard a great 


576 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS , 


deal of Lim. Tom and he must be friends,” said tl e Bishop, 
taking a seat that was vacant beside Mrs. Medlicott. 

Before he was seated there a minute, he had fixed an early 
day for her and her husband to dine with him. Mr. Medlicott 
himself joined them in a few moments, and great was his amaze- 
ment, as he approached, when he saw the Bishop seated by the 
side of his wife. The old man rose, and received his grandson 
with a happy mixture of the freedom belonging to his advanced 
years and venerable relationship, and the deference due to a man 
of Reuben’s ripe age and eminent position. It was altogether an 
interesting and striking incident of domestic life. The bewilder- 
ment of the Barsacs, who had looked upon the breach as incurable, 
and had treated the Medlicotts as ill as possible, to make them- 
selves agreeable to the Bishop, was a curious part of the scene ; 
but the most curious of all was the mutual introduction of the 
infant prodigies. The Bishop himself put Tom’s little red fist 
into Chichester’s still smaller and redder one. Tom had his 
other hand full of the remains of Barsac’s bouquet, which he 
shared most good-humouredly with his new acquaintance. 

“ Generous little fellow,” cried Mrs. Barsac. 

“ Haud sine dvis animosus infans ,” said Reuben, addressing 
himself to the Bishop, whom the quotation greatly pleased. 

“ To whom should he be generous, if not to his grand- 
nephew ?” said the chaplain. 

“ Very true,” said the old man, “that never occurred to me 
before ; that is the relationship between the urchins.” 

The laughter was, in Homerio phrase, “ inextinguishable.” 
The Bishop leaned on Reuben’s arm all the way back to his 
carriage. Mr. Barsac was as attentive to Mrs. Medlicott as if she 
had been a countess ; and that very night a card of invitation to 
a distant dinner at Portland Place was delivered at the modest 
little house in Piccadilly. 

They were now in the Easter recess. 

“ The talking period of the session is happily over,” said Mr. 
Medlicott to the Bishop on the day he dined with him, “ we 
shall now, I hope, get some little business done ; I have several 
irons in the fire myself.” 

“ Keep the hammer going,” replied his grandfather, poking 
him slily under the midriff. 

“ That’s the true plan, sir,” said Reuben, “ ‘ constant strokes 
fell great oaks,’ as poor Richard says.” 

“ We shall meet you and Mrs. Medlicott at my father’s, I 
hope,” said Mrs. Wyndham. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


377 


Reuben shook his head, and informed Blanche (fa resolution 
he had made not to dine out again for the remainder of the 
session. 

He went down for a day or two to Chichester before the 
House re-assembled, and was feted by his constituents. It was 
in his speech upon that occasion (after his health had been drunk 
with all the honours) that he made use of Sir Edward Coke’s 
curious zoological illustration, in his Institutes, of the talents and 
virtues indispensable to a member of Parliament. 

“ I agree, sir,” he said, addressing Mr. Cox, who was in the 
chair, “ I agree with that illustrious lawyer, Sir Edward Coke, 
(with whose works my forensic studies necessarily made me inti- 
mately acquainted), that every member of the House of Com- 
mons ought to have certain properties of that noble animal, the 
elephant. As the elephant, in the first place, has no gall, so 
should the representative of the people divest himself of all per- 
sonal animosities, of malice, and envy, and all uncharitableness. 
Secondly, he should resemble the elephant in the quality of in- 
flexibility, upon which you will all remember what Shakspeare 
says, speaking of the same generous quadruped, that ‘ he has 
joints, but not for courtesy ; his legs are legs for necessity, not 
for flexure.’ Sir, I trust that mine will never deserve any other 
character. I shall use them to stand upon in the House, not for 
bowing at the levee, or cringing at the Treasury ; it would ill 
become me, sir, to commend my own legs, but I may be per- 
mitted to say this much of them, that they are legs for necessity, 
not for flexure. I wish I could arrogate to myself with equal 
truth the third elephantine attribute noticed by the great autho- 
rity I am quoting, that of a ripe and perfect memory, so neces- 
sary in the public councils, to prevent dangers to come by the 
remembrances of the perils that are past. He tells us, further, 
that the elephant is gregarious and sociable, going in companies 
and parties. I trust you will always find me an elephant in this 
respect also ; only I trust I shall be oftener found, gentlemen, at 
such tables as this, meeting my constituents in the spirit of inde- 
pendent and constitutional conviviality, than a banqueter at 
ministerial white-bait dinners, or a guest at the royal table. But, 
sir, I have not yet done; or, rather, sir, Edward Coke is not yet 
done; he reserves to the last (and I shall imitate him) that par- 
ticular virtue of this noble and exemplary quadruped, which dis- 
tinguishes him from all the brute creation, and exalts him to a 
level with man himself. Sir, the elephant is the philanthropist 


878 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS; 


of the animal kingdom. Homini erranti viam ostendit. This 
property, concludes Coke, and I think you will conclude with 
him, every Parliament man ought to have. Sir, I beg to pro- 
pose the health of the elephants in the House of Commons, and 
I wish they were a larger party than I fear they are.” 

This elephant speech made a great noise, as will be easily 
credited, and increased the speaker’s notoriety vastly. Unfor- 
tunately it was not equally effective in disposing the House to 
receive him with increased respect or gravity. Never did such 
mountains of promise bring forth such mice of performance. 
Never did a man more industriously prepare the way for his 
own ridicule, discomfiture, and downfall. 

It seems hard to complain of a legislator for legislating, but 
law-making may be overdone like everything else, from the 
cooking of a mutton-chop upwards ; and it was surely the height 
of imprudence in Mr. Medlicott, on the strength of his one 
speech (which was not, after all, of the best parliamentary pro- 
mise), to move for leave to bring in seven bills at one sitting, as 
he did upon the first meeting of the House. There was a speech, 
too, upon each bill ; seven, bills and seven speeches. When the 
Speaker called on him a third time, there was a laugh ; and the 
laugh grew louder and louder in consequence of his unhappily 
making repeated use of the phrase, “ while he was on his legs 
for this put everybody in mind of his speech at Chichester, which 
had appeared that morning in the London papers. 

“ His'legs seem inflexible, indeed,” said one of the secreta- 
ries to his neighbour on the Treasury bench, “ I think he will 
never sit down.” 

The laughing and coughing increased every moment, and 
made Mr. Medlicott so indignant, that instead of immediately 
condensing his observations, in wise submission to the manifest 
feeling of the House, he actually expanded them in order to pun- 
ish the men who interrupted him.' The consequence was, that 
when he rose for the seventh time, there was a general outcry ; 
a number of members rushed out into the lobby, while those 
who remained, with their united clamours, effectually drowned 
the voice of the speaker, and compelled him to do at last what 
a man of common sense would have done an hour before. 

The next day two caricatures of the member for Chichester 
appeared in all the print-shops. In one he was represented as an 
elephant, with a castle on his back containing the seven bills. 
In the other he was portrayed as Thor with his tremendous 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 379 

sledge, thumping the table*of the House, and scaring the Treas- 
ury benches from their propriety. 

It wouid be absurd to suppose that these things did n Dt seri- 
ously annoy him. They increased his notoriety, however, and 
that was always a source of comfort to Mr. Medlicott. His friends 
certainly felt more acutely than he did, not only now, but upon 
many similar occasions afterwards, the “distressful strokes” 
which his public character suffered at this period from the 
journalists, caricaturists, and epigrammatists of the day. But 
there was another explanation of the calmness with which he 
bore himself through the laugh of the House and the ridicule 
that followed it out of doors. He had the platform always to 
fall back on, to retrieve himself in his own esteem ; there he was 
certain to wield his hammer with success, there he never failed to 
be received and admired not only as an elephant, but as a lion 
of the first magnitude. Accordingly, every repulse he experi- 
enced in St. Stephen’s chapel involved him still deeper with tho 
various agitators and enthusiasts he was leagued with ; and as 
he naturally availed himself of his benign audiences to revenge 
himself upon those that were unpropitious, by imputing the treat- 
ment he met with to personal motives, he always returned to the 
House with diminished chances of being heard with attention. 

In short, during the three sessions that Mr. Medlicott repre- 
sented his native town in Parliament, he literally did nothing 
but present monster petitions, move for masses of papers (des- 
tined to be printed, but never read), and delay the business of 
legislation by repeated abortive attempts to speak. His obsti- 
nacy was extraordinary ; lie might often have been listened to, 
if he had not been studiously prolix, or if he had been contented 
to rise between seven and ten o’clock, when many a speech is re- 
ceived with patience, that nobody would brook at a later and 
busier hour ; but Mr. Medlicott disdained to subject his genius to 
any law or restraint whatsoever, and soon began to incline his ear 
to the melodious flatterers who told him that he failed in Parlia- 
ment as he had failed in divinity, and failed at the bar, expressly 
because his talents were too various and too splendid. 

According to these judges, the world did not contain an arena 
sufficiently spacious, or a stage sufficiently conspicuous, for the 
exercise and display of Mr. Medlicott’s powers. 

His parliamentary break-down was the more remarkable in 
the eyes of his friends, when they contrasted it with the compar- 
ative success of the member for Blarney. Doctor Pigwidgeon 


380 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


showed more wit in the senate thaif he had ever shown out of it, 
for, finding that he could amuse the house for twenty minutes 
with a species of buffoonery he possessed, he aimed at nothing 
further, and made it a rule to sit down on the first hint that he 
had said enough. Besides, he soon discovered that much as his 
constituents loved eloquence, they loved places more, and having 
also fixed his own eye on a good appointment abroad, he was 
much more anxious on all occasions to be present at the division 
than to shine in the debate. 


CHAPTER IV. 

MR. MEDLICOTT VISITS THE NEW WORLD. 

Towards the close of the third year of Mr. Medlicott’s parlia 
mentary life, still confident in himself, and enjoying the undi- 
minished idolatry of his mother and his aunt, his admirers in 
Chiehester, and his Quaker followers in London, after making an 
oratorical tour of England (during which the House of Commons 
and the newspapers were abused most unsparingly) he suddenly 
announced his intention to visit the United States (an old design 
of his), and left it to his constituents to decide whether they 
would or would not require the surrender of his seat. There 
was a stormy discussion at Chichester on the subject, resulting 
in the adoption, by a considerable majority of electors, of an ad- 
dress, highly complimentary in its language, but ending in an 
unambiguous expression of opinion in favour of his resignation. 
In fact, he had satisfied neither his honest friends nor his inter- 
ested supporters : the former he had displeased by showing too 
little parliamentary talent ; the latter offended by displaying too 
much parliamentary virtue. At the same time, that gentleness 
of manners and amiableness of disposition, which distinguished 
him through life, inclined those who took the sternest view of 
the case to deal as tenderly with him as possible ; and, to soften 
the rigour of the sentence, they voted him a superb piece of plate, 
and begged to have his bust, in marble or bronze, to adorn the 
town-hall. 

His parents, particularly his mother, were deeply afflicted at 
his resolution to expatriate himself, even for a season ; and they 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


381 


prevailed on the Bishop to exert whatever influence he possessed 
over him to detain him at home, and induce him either to return 
to the bar, or strike out soipe other path to fame and fortune. 
The Bishop, growing still mellower as his years multiplied, un- 
dertook this task, though his heart was not much in it ; but to 
no purpose : Reuben persisted in his intention to cross the ocean, 
and make what he called a general survey of transatlantic civili- 
zation. His Quaker friends were probably the secret instigators 
of this step, reckoning with the utmost assurance upon his popu- 
, larity and success in the United States, and the probability of his 
returning to England with such an accession of reputation and 
self-reliance as would bear down all envy and overwhelm all op- 
position. 

It was a serious question whether he should, or should not, 
take his wife and children with him upon this wild-goose chase 
after fame in America ; but after mature deliberation it was de- 
cided to leave them behind ; and Matthew Cox gave them his 
snug country-house for a residence, the cottage occupied by old 
Hannah Hopkins being now much too small for a family so large 
as Reuben’s. By this arrangement, also, the brood of little Med- 
licotts would be within a convenient distance of their grand- 
mother, the Vicar’s wife, who would be sure to keep poor Mary’s 
vulgar common-sense in proper subjection, and look with becom- 
ing anxiety to the awakening of their faculties and development 
of their organs. 

We shall not accompany Mr. Medlicott upon this romantic 
expedition, but will tell the reader who the squires of his body 
were. Monsieur Beauvoisin attended him in the capacity of pri- 
vate secretary ; and his godson, Reuben Gosling, having paid 
attention to his arithmetic and education generally, was selected 
to fill another office about his person, something between a clerk 
and a valet. Mr. Medlicott was now in about his eight-and- 
thirtieth year, but looked younger, owing to the colour of his 
hair, the freshness of his complexion, and the elasticity and erect- 
ness of his carriage, from which you could not have inferred that 
he had miscarried so lamentably in one of the most conspicuous 
positions in life. There is the less reason for giving an account 
of his wanderings in the New World, as he published two pon- 
derous octavo volumes (substantially blue-book^) about them on 
his return ; which, if the work is not out of print, the -reader may 
consult if he pleases. It is quite enough to relate here, that he 
not only talked prodigiously in all the private houses to which 


382 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


he had introductions or invitations, but delivered elaborate lectures 
wherever he went upon the comparative merits of English and 
American institutions, civil and religious, and their moral and in- 
tellectual results. The lecture that made most noise was one 
upon the eloquence of the two nations, in the course of which he 
introduced some severe strictures upon the modern taste for ora- 
tory at Westminster, which he supported and defended by quot- 
ing his own speeches, and relating how totally they had failed. 
On the other hand, he applauded, and did so most conscien- 
tiously, the then prevailing style of the majority of the public 
speakers at Washington ; for his voyage was antecedent to the 
adoption in Congress of the celebrated one-hour rule, which im- 
posed such heavy restraint upon the tongues of free-born citizens. 
That rule was just beginning to be talked about at this period, 
and Mr. Medlicott thought it his duty to leave behind him, in 
every state and city he visited, the important protest of a m m of 
his great experience against its justice and wisdom. 

Another subject upon which he said a prodigious deal in 
rooms of all sizes, and before audiences of every variety, was the 
abolition of slavery, upon which he may be said to have had a 
special commission to hold forth, from his broad-brimmed friends 
at home. He discoursed largely on this, exciting topic all through 
the New England States, and finally announced his intention to 
make a little excursion into Virginia and the Carolinas, to put 
the question in its true light to the southerns themselves, feeling 
that the planters had probably never had the opportunity of 
hearing it properly stated and discussed. This design he exe- 
cuted so far as actually to cross the Virginian frontier, and he 
was on the point of commencing his proceedings at a place called 
New Argos, or My cense, when he was waited on by a deputation 
of tobacco-growers, with immense sombreros and cart-whips of 
proportionate size, who, in a few energetic words, completely 
changed his purpose, and convinced him of the prudence of 
making a rapid retreat over the border. When he returned to 
Philadelphia, he addressed an earnest letter to the slave-holding 
states in general, in which he complained that the rights of free 
discussion had been invaded in his person, and counselled them 
to emancipate their negroes without delay, as he was firmly re- 
solved never to slumber or sleep until they did so. Of this letter 
there is not the shadow of a ground for believing that any of the 
slave-holding states ever took the slightest notice. It had a 
great run in Gracechurch-street, however, where it was not likely 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


383 


to be of much service to the blacks ; and so had another tract 
of Mr. Medlicott’s upon • the Mormonites — a sect to which he 
afterwards owned that he felt at one time a serious nclination to 
unite himself. 

As to the ambitious book he published on his return, called 
“America Displayed,” it was a curious and not very judicious 
mixture of florid descriptions of rivers and savannahs, declama- 
tory chapters on liberty and education, zoological and geological 
discussions, and statistical tables and details, in the accumulation 
of which his industrious godson (aided by a pair of scissors) 
made himself remarkably useful. Mr. Medlicott paid particular 
attention, wherever he travelled in the States, to the schools and 
the prisons ; in the latter of which establishments he witnessed, 
for the first time, the operation of the silent system, but expressed 
no desire to make trial of its benefits in his own person. 

His travels made Mr. Medlicott* more self-confident than ever, 
and his loquacity did not diminish, it will easily be believed, with 
the augmentation of his funds of discourse. If - the Rhine or the 
Rhone often makes men over-talkative, you may fancy the effects 
of the mighty rivers of the American continent. He came back 
to England with all his foibles magnified on tbe scale of the face 
of nature ‘beyond the Atlantic. His conversation now flowed 
like the Mississippi, spread out like the prairies, and was often as 
hard to penetrate as the great forests of the new world. He 
never was so great a lion as he was for some time after his re- 
turn to England. Never before did he afford the eyes of friend 
Harvey such a feast. The Quakers now flocked about him in 
greater numbers than ever, and his connection with them became 
closer daily. They scarcely left him time to visit his wife and 
children, or look after his few private affairs. Teas and lectures 
were the order of the day. Philanthropists of all sects are noto- 
rious consumers of Congo, and the Quakers exceed all other reli- 
gionists in the love of lectures. America was an inexhaustible 
subject. Mr. Medlicott having lectured the Americans on Eng- 
land, now reversed the process, and lectured the English on 
America. He lectured in London, in Liverpool, in Birmingham, 
in Glasgow, and going over to Dublin, in company with Harvey, 
he lectured there also, eclipsing for a week all the ordinary lights 
of the Rotunda. From Dublin he proceeded on a torn to Kil- 
larney, from thence to Connemara, and the Giant’s Causeway, 
after which a book on Ireland was a matter of course ; and a re- 
markable book it was, for it settled every Irish question, probed 


384 : 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


the difficulties of Irish government to the bottom, and left nothing 
to be desired but that the writer should be made Chief Secretary, 
to set everything to rights by a short and simple Act of Parliament. 

Mr. Medlicott, when in Dublin, honoured the lord-lieutenant 
of the day by attending his levee. The first person he met in 
the antechamber was Dr. Pigwidgeon ; they conversed as if they 
had never been opposed, and the Doctor informed Reuben that 
he had just been appointed governor of some happy island be- 
longing to the British Crown, and was on the point of resigning 
the borough of Blarney. While they were talking, who should 
come up, bustling through the crowd of sycophants and place- 
hunters, but the foremost man in Ireland at that period, the 
leader of the Catholic body, and as great a borough-monger in 
his way as any duke in England. He was already acquainted 
with Mr. Medlicott, shook him cordially by the hand, was pro- 
fuse of compliments upon the work on America, and finally in- 
vited him to dine that day, to meet Governor Pigwidgeon and 
other eminent public characters. 

The dinner proved eventful, for it was arranged before the 
evening was over that Mr. Medlicott should try his luck again in 
the House of Commons, coming in for Blarney, as successor to 
the Doctor. It would only cost a thousand pounds *or there- 
abouts ; but it was indispensable that the new candidate should 
start at once and show himself in the first instance at the Corn 
Exchange. 

On that conspicuous stage, accordingly, Mi. Medlicott the 
very next day played the mountebank to a large and an admir- 
ing audience. He praised the great Irish leader, and the great 
Irish leader praised him. Mr. Medlicott was only too happy and 
too proud to serve under the banner of so distinguished a chief, 
and that distinguished chief, upon his part, was equally ready to 
accept Mr. Medlicott for his captain. 

These mutual flatteries having been exchanged amidst vocif- 
erous applause from the unwashed artificers of Dublin, our enter- 
prising hero sent his address to the newspapers, and embarked 
immediately for England, sedulously attended by his new patron 
to the water-side. 

The report of this nfost unexpected Irish freak, having pre- 
ceded him to Salisbury and Chichester, threw the old Bishop 
into a short paroxysm of indignation, vexed the Vicar considera- 
bly, and gratified only the weakest of his friends, including that 
fondest and vainest of her sex, his mother. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 385 

“ Again !” cried the Vicar ; “ after burning his fingers once, 
I was in hopes he would not be so rash for the future.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Mr. Cox, after a moment’s reflection, 
u I often hear it said that such a one, having once burned his 
fingers, will not be apt to burn them again. That is not my 
view of things. As far as my observation goes, the great mis- 
takes of life are rarely committed only once. When I see a man 
make one imprudent marriage, I think it the more probable he 
will make another. If a man embarrasses himself by building a 
house, I don’t expect him to give up building as soon as he is 
out of his difficulties ; on the contrary, I . m inclined to predict 
he will soon be in the mortar again.” 


CHAPTER V. 

Peace proves more fatal than war. 

Mr. Medlicott is now in the House again, but he treats the 
House with pretty much the same contempt that he formerly 
treated the University ; writes M. P. after his name, enjoys the eclat 
and the precedence which the position brings with it, but only 
meditates appearing upon remarkable occasions, like a Cincinna- 
tus to save his country, or a comet to make her tremble. His 
family, waxing larger at the rate of four new comers every three 
years, continued to reside in the house called the snuff-box, which 
they inhabited by Mr. Cox’s never-ceasing kindness ; Reuben lived 
there himself nearly as much as he did in London ; and not be- 
ing content with the enterprising outlay of a thousand pounds 
upon the representation of Blarney, he speculated now a little in 
agriculture, and bought a farm of twenty acres adjoining his rural 
abode, which, with the help of the Frenchman and his godson, 
he hoped to cultivate with credit and advantage. 

There never was anything clearer on paper than the profits 
of this farm ; but far from realising his anticipations, he soon 
found that it materially diminished his income, and that it was ab- 
solutely necessary to have some other iron in the fire. His wife 
being passionately fond of horticulture, it occurred to him to try 
the experiment of gardening upon a great scale : she would con- 
duct the floral dapartment ; ue himself would manage the other 
branches, or his secretary and clerk under his control and supe* 
17 


386 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


mtendence. For the disposal of his flowers and vegetables, ho 
opened negotiations with the most extensive green-grocers of 
Co vent Garden, and he inaugurated the speculation with a lec- 
ture upon the history and philosophy of gardens, which was at- 
tended by all the nobility and gentry within twenty miles of Chi- 
chester. 

The spot originally combined flower-garden with kitchen- 
garden ; here a cherry-tree, there an acacia ; the violets creeping 
amongst the lettuces, and the roses and gooseberries seeming to 
grow upon the same bushes. Never did old Matthew sleep so 
soundly as in the little dimity-curtained bedroom overlooking the 
cucumber-frame, or breakfast with such appetite as in the sunny 
parlour underneath it, enjoying the song of the thrushes as much 
as his chocolate, and the smell of the flowers in their season more 
than even the odour of the titillating dust by which he had made 
his fortune. There was, however, something perhaps of the love 
of property in the gratification which these snatches of rustic ex- 
istence gave him, for he was fond of thinking, wlnsn the whiffs ot # 
sweetness came upon the wind, that they came from his own 
roses ; and when the various birds were chirping, carolling, and 
cooing round about him, he was wont to distinguish what he 
called his own robins, or his own doves, from the cuckoo or the 
wood-pigeon that haunted the neighbouring grove, and were no 
tenants of his. 

’ It was, indeed, a very pretty spot, and could not have been 
much more still had it been forty miles from any city, town, or 
borough. The nearest approach to hubbub ever heard there, 
was that of a rookery in an adjoining wood ; or, if the wind was 
in a particular point, when the church-bells of the city rang out 
together hpon any great occasion of civil or religious joy. 

It was very good in Mr. Cox to surrender this place as he 
now did to Mr. Medlicott’s use, not even reserving for himself the 
room that overlooked the cucumbers. Reuben now passed many 
of his days here, sometimes with his flageolet cheering his la- 
bourers, sometimes with his hoe in his hand, earthing his mar- 
row-fats, while perhaps he meditated a speech or an enterprise, 
grafting the cares of the statesman upon the occupations of the 
farmer and the gardener. The Vicar, though growing unwieldy, 
was his grand vizier upon all horticultural questions, though no 
man saw more clearly than he did the wide difference between 
gardening for amusement and gardening for profit. His father, 
moreover, was no visionary even iu matters of roses and ra^ 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


387 


berries. He was for gardening very much in the good old Eng- 
lish way. Reuben was a transcendental gardener, and among 
other extraordinary notions, he conceived the idea of cultivating 
certain species of flowering plants on the top of the house. For 
this purpose he went to the considerable expense of a new roof, 
with a very gentle slope to the south, which he then covered with 
a coating of soil of what he considered sufficient thickness and 
the proper composition for his purposes. Mr. Cox had a private 
opinion that as the house was his, he ought to have been consnlt- 
ed before it was remodelled for so odd a purpose ; and both he 
and the Vicar suggested the possibility of the roof not proving 
strong enough to support the weight of the beds imposed on it, 
particularly as there was also a large leaden tank for water, not 
to speak of the occasional saturation of the earth with rain, and 
the corresponding increase of strain upon the rafters. Mr. Med- 
licott, however, was confident all was perfectly secure ; he had 
not quite forgotten, he said, with an air of assumption, the mathe- 
matics he had read at Cambridge, and the strength of materials 
and doctrine of vertical pressure had been among the subjects to 
which his attention had there been directed. Upon this, the 
Vicar and the landlord drew in their horns and said no more, 
though the latter continued to harbour an unpleasant apprehen- 
sion that the system of house-top gardening would break down 
sooner or later, with considerable injury to his property, if not 
more unpleasant consequences. 

The life Mr. Medlicott led here, although eccentric, had a 
great many domestic comforts and social enjoyments. The place 
was picturesque ; the operations going on had the attractions that 
rural operations always have ; he had brought his library down ; 
he was in the bosom of his family ; some of his oldest associates 
were in his neighbourhood ; upon the whole, except that his ex- 
chequer was low, and likely to be lower (which was, to be sure, 
a drawback), his position was by no means as unenviable as it 
was strange. 

His wife, used to the country, and loving it, was many de- 
grees a happier creature now, than she had been in her elegant 
little mansion in London. Now she was seldom daunted by 
moustache, or overawed by big-wigs. Moreover she was re- 
united to her mother, from whom it was marvellous how she 
ever tore herself. She was just such a comfort and a treasure to 
Reuben, as Mr. Cox had found in another member of the same 
Religious community. Wherever Mary livol, her house shone 


O00 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


like a mirror, both within and without. Her kitchen w , 
always a, place to dine in ; all her domestic arrangements were 
neatness itself. The younger Mrs. Medlicott was at this time 
very generally admired : the consciousness of being the spouse of 
so distinguished a husband, communicated a dignity to her de- 
portment ; while her anxieties about his fame and prospects, as 
well as about her children, substituted an air of seriousness, almost 
of melancholy, for the excess of mirthfulness that formerly dis- 
tinguished her. Both changes seemed to become her. She 
retained much of her primitive simplicity of costume, but its 
simplicity suited a style of beauty which had rather a tendency 
to the florid and exuberant, and Reuben took care to make up 
for the sobriety of the hues by the richness of the texture of her 
garments. As he was fond, however, of bright colours when pic- 
torially combined, particularly in female dress, since he could not 
please his eye with them in that of his wife, he made himself 
compensation in the attire of two maidens who had been for 
some time in his service, and who opened his door and attended 
his table in gay boddices and petticoats, and ribbons of many a 
bright tint. Reuben’s rural entertainments were generally more 
successful than his dinners in Piccadilly ; and one of the circum- 
stances that made them more agreeable was the absence of 
powdered footmen and black boys, and the substitution of those 
smiling girls, who glided and hovered about your chair, nimble 
as Hebe in handing a glass, and neat-handed as Phyllis at dress- 
ing a salad. 

One of Mr. Medlicott’s many amiable qualities was his vivid 
remembrance of old scenes and old acquaintanceships ; of every 
little tie, however slight, that had once connected him with any 
one either in business or in pleasure. About a year after his 
union with Mary Hopkins, they had been prevailed on by Mrs. 
Wyndham to spend a short time with her at Westbury, where 
she occasionally went to manage matters, unaccompanied by the 
Bishop. There Reuben saw many a face he had formerly been 
familiar with ; and among others, very little impaired by time, 
were those of Dorothy the gardener’s daughter, and Jenny the 
maid of the dairy, both looking out for services. Mrs. Wyndham 
gave them such excellent characters, that Mary Medlicott carried 
them away with her back to town, and they had lived with her 
ever since, fully answering the promises made for them. 

Mr. Primrose once amused himself by drawing a parallel, in 
the manner of Plutarch, between these two equally useful and 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


389 


ornamental members of Mr. Medlicott’s establishment. Dorothy 
was a Devonshire lass, born in the orchards : Jenny a Welch- 
woman ; her rude forefathers were goatherds on week-days and 
J umpers on Sundays. Jenny was red-and-white : Dorothy was all 
red. Jenny was rather tall than short: Lorothy rather short 
than tall. The eyes of the Devon lass were blue : those o » 
the Welch maiden hazel. Dorothy liked work well, but diver- 
sion better : Jenny seemed as happy at work as she could possi- 
bly be at anything. Dorothy wore pink boddices and blue 
petticoats: Jenny wore the same hues in the opposite order. 
Some people fancied Dorothy more than Jenny : some, Jenny 
more than Dorothy. Both were good-humoured and in good 
case, and looked particularly well of a morning whitening the 
steps of Reuben Medlicott’s door. 

It is possible, that if Mr. Medlicott had been left to himself, 
or let alone, he would have devoted himself more heartily and 
thoroughly than he did to his original kind of life, which had 
indeed many fascinations for him. It did not even want the 
charm of notoriety, for he contrived to make his undertakings 
well known to the public not only by his lectures, but by papers 
in the “Gardener’s Journal,” and by extensive correspondence 
with the most celebrated horticulturists in the kingdom. But 
the more ambitious of his friends and relatives had no notion of 
permitting a Pitt to sink into a Paxton. Harvey was wretched 
when Mr. Medlicott was out of his sight more than a week. Dr. 
Page wrote him short energetic letters, treating his cabbages 
with sovereign contempt. It was with difficulty Mrs. Primrose 
was restrained by her husband from sending him reproachful and 
stimulating letters ; while a certain blue demon, in the form of a 
tall matron, with spectacles of the same hue, was always at his 
elbow leading him into temptation, and tempting him to commit 
the very sin, of all others, which led the holy angels astray. 

But no doubt there was also that within his own breast 
which kept continually reminding him that his mission was not 
yet fulfilled ; there was always the 

“ Neacia virtus stare loco,” 

and even if that voice had been mute, and that principle 
dormant, the occasional calls of the House, and injunctions 
of Mr. Speaker, would of themselves have been enough to giva 
him a fillip. 


390 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

As member for Blarney he utterly failed to give satisfaction. 
He had consented to accept a jointship in the tail of the Liberator, 
but he performed as inefficiently as possible the duties of that 
office ; forgot entirely that he was not an independant member, 
and absented himself from important divisions in defiance of 
priests and demagogues. The consequence was, that the power 
that brought him in had already threatened to turn him out, 
and angry letters had passed between him and the Irish Cleon, 
in which there was no question but that Mr. Medlicott got the 
worst of it. 

In the hands of the Quakers he was always more pliable. 
Yielding to their earnest and united solicitations, he now promised 
to move a series of resolutions, with a view to pledge the House 
to the principles of the Peace Society. The very outline he gave 
of the propositions he intended to lay down produced not a little 
amusement. When the time was near at hand for making his 
motion, it was found to clash with arrangements for a debate 
upon a government measure of the greatest urgency. Mr. Med- 
licott refused to give way. His friend Winning, now Solicitor- 
General, begged him to postpone it as a personal favour, but the 
influence of friend Harvey was too strong. Reuben, in fact, 
wanted the moral courage to do what his natural sense of de- 
corum prompted. On the morning of the day fixed, out came 
the Times with a thunderer of the justest severity, launched at 
the peace-mongers and their Coryphaeus. The old caricatures 
appeared in the shop-windows. Thor and the elephant were 
once more in every man’s mouth, and under these propitious cir- 
cumstances Mr. Medlicott rose to make a six hours’ speech upon 
a question almost too puerile for discussion in a debating society. 
The result need hardly be stated. Never did the folly of an in- 
dividual bring down such speedy and crushing retribution upon 
his head. The smile grew into the laugh, the laugh changed to 
the cough, the cough passed into the groan, the groan rose and 
swelled into the shout — then laugh, cough, groan, shout, and all 
conceivable modes of expressing the determination of an assembly 
not to tolerate a speaker, were combined with a storm of noises 
that was fearful to hear. Long before the orator, who was as 
stubborn as he w 7 as rash, gave up the contest, his friend Winning 
left the house, so painful was it to him to witness the prostration 
of his old friend and schoolfellow. 

Nor even with this amount of castigation did the unfortunate 
member for Blarney escape lpon this occasion ; for the minister, 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


391 


whose important motion had been kept waiting during this sad 
waste of public time, thought it his duty to make the strongest 
remarks upon the system of persecuting the House with frivolous 
and vexatious declamation. 

“ The honourable member,” he said, “ makes peace more 
formidable than war. He and the wild enthusiasts he represents 
lead us seriously to doubt whether peace is indeed so great a 
blessing as we have hitherto imagined it ; we almost long for the 
roar of ordnance to silence this insufferable tongue-battery. 
We are told of the horrors of war, but at the present moment, 
after what we have witnessed to-night, I think the House has a 
much clearer idea of the horrors of peace. I will not call the 
honourable member an enemy to his country, but I will say that 
he has declared and levied peace against her. We shall hence- 
forward associate peace with his harangues, and fly to the can- 
non’s mouth to escape from his. What are the toils and troubles 
of war, of which the poets say so much, compared to the toil 
and trouble of sitting on these benches, condemned to the •alter- 
native of being deafened either by the honourable member him- 
self, or the overwhelming majority of this House, determined, 
and properly determined, not to hear him ? I heartily congratu- 
late the House upon having finally wrested the olive-branch fron 
the honourable gentleman’s hands, for a more formidable instru- 
ment for the dispatch of public business, in tlie fatal sense of that 
word, was never wielded in this or any other country.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH FORTUNE PROMISES TO COMPENSATE THE VICAR FOR HER 
TREATMENT OF HIS SON. 

A third caricature ‘of Mr. Medlicott appeared the following day, 
representing him thrashing the Ministry with a huge olive-branch. 
He bought the engraving himself, and taking it down with him 
to Chichester, hung it on the walls of his breakfast-parlour, which 
had already (in the same spirit of bravado and contempt for 
public opinion), been decorated with the previous illustrations ol 
his career in the senate. However, he did little or nothing in 
parliament after this ; though the same obstinacy which would 


o92 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


not allow him to sit down when the House ordered him U do so 
in a voice of thunder, led him to retain his seat to the last, in 
defiance of the loudest complaints from his constituents. 

Probably few remained now of the once numerous band of 
believers in his genius, who expected great exploits in statesman- 
ship from him. Perhaps his mother, perhaps friend Harvey, still 
hoped against hope ; but if they did, they must have been almost 
the only people who did so. It was still possible, of course, that 
he had not hit upon the true sphere for his abilities. All the 
paths to eminence had not yet been explored ; there were still 
roads to fame and fortune remaining to be travelled. 

He was forty : a serious age ; too late to become a physician, 
the only learned profession he had not yet turned his mind to. 
The army and the navy were out of the question for an apostle 
of peace, as he was. It was easier to see that something must 
be done, than to decide what the something was ; for it was 
clear he could not live like a gentleman, and bring up his family 
respectably, by philosophical gardening, or as a gentleman farmer 
either. 

In fact, his finances were much embarrassed just now, be- 
tween his parliamentary and agricultural speculations ; very little 
remained of the handsome legacy Mr. Broad had left him ; it 
was as much as he could do to retain his godson in his service ; 
and it was a great relief to him when M. Beauvoisin volunteered 
to leave him, for the purpose of going on the stage with his sis- 
ter, who had already adopted that profession. 

In this uneasy state of affairs, an incident occurred which 
promised first to give the Vicar a lift in the world, but ended in 
doing that service for his son, who, in truth, wanted it more. 

When Madame Beauvoisin became an actress she assumed 
the name of Charmette, and by that name she was already ex- 
tremely popular on the London boards, in nearly the same walk 
in which Vestris was so brilliant and successful. Mr. Medlicott 
went to London expressly to see her. The Wyndhams were in 
town, and the Primroses with them, of course. Reuben secured 
a private box, and all the party, except the Bishop, went to see 
Charmette. They found her equal to her reputation ; she sang 
with great spirit, but it was more as an actress she shone, than 
as a vocalist. 

“And who is Charmette?” said Mrs. Wyndham, observ- 
ing that Reuben talked of her to his aunt as of an old acquaint- 
ance. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 393 

“Who is she!” repeated Reuben: “you have sure* y heard 
of her?” 

“ In the newspapers only.” 

“ Well, you knew her brother, at Hereford.” 

“ No !” 

“Ah ! I see you have forgotten a certain essay by an old ac- 
quaintance of yours, — an inexperienced young author, — an essay 
on shoemakers of genius ! Now I have brought things to your 
memory.” 

“Perfectly!” said Mrs. Wyndham, laughing; “I shall never 
forget Adolphe and the pink satin shoe, and his theory of feet, 
which I suspect was more yours than his ” 

“ Mdlle. Charmette is his sister.” 

“ You don’t tell me so ! I trust she is not as great an object 
of interest with you as her brother was formerly?” 

“ What would Mary say to that ?” said Mrs. Primrose. 

The curtain now rose again, and when it fell, the second 
piece was over. 

“ What is the hour?” asked Mrs. Wyndham, anxiously. 

“ Half-past ten,” said Reuben, looking at his watch. 

“ Oh, dear ! and the House will be up early to-night, on ac- 
count of the ball at St. James’s.” 

The Primroses and Mrs. Wyndham hurried away, but Mr. 
Medlicott remained to see the third piece, in which Charmette 
was also to appear. She observed him in the course of her per- 
formance, and before if was over a slip of paper, with a few 
words in pencil, was put into his hands, inviting him to supper 
at her lodgings, to meet Henry Winning and De Tabley. 

Charmette received him with the most enchanting cordiality. 
She had evidently at length discovered where her true force lay ; 
everything about her was brilliant, her apartments, her servants, 
her table, — all the creation of her own energy and genius. 

Beside Winning and De Tabley, she expected another guest 
that night, who, when he came, proved to be another of Reuben’s 
old friends, Master Turner, still fresh and as well able to enjoy 
life as ever. The supper was so agreeable, that it was near three 
o’clock when the party broke up. Master Turner and Mr. Med- 
licott went away together, and the former, laying his hand on 
Reuben’s shoulder, mad$ precisely the same speech he had made 
more than once so many years before. “ The Lord Chancellor 
told me that the best sermon he ever heard in his life was one 
your father preached before him at Chichester.” 

17 * 


394 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS * 


At breakfast the next morning with the Primroses, Reuben, 
after making a full confession of his dissipated proceedings on 
the previous night, mentioned the old Master’s odd repetition oi 
what the head of the law had s*aid ever so long ago about his 
father’s sermon. 

“ I think,” said Mrs. Primrose, “ since the Chancellor thought 
so highly of your father, he might have given him a living be- 
fore this, or, at least, done something for his family.” 

“The probability is,” said Hyacinth, “that the Chancellor 
never thought of the subject since he made the remark which 
Turner so absurdly repeats every time we meet.” 

“ He might surely remind the Chancellor of the circumstance,” 
she replied ; “ something good might come of it.” 

“But the misfortune is,” said Reuben, laughing, “that the 
sermon was one of my grandfather’s, so that my father would 
hardly think of accepting a living, if it was offered him under 
such peculiar circumstances.” 

“That would be rare Quixotism,” said the chaplain. “Let 
us ask Mr. Turner to dinner at all events on an early day,” said 
his wife, when her nephew was gone ; “ he is intimate with the 
Chancellor, and I think he would say a word in season to oblige 
me.” 

This was done. The Primroses had a little dinner of six in 
a few days, including Master Turner, Winning, and Mrs. Wynd- 
ham ; the Bishop happening to dine at Lambeth. 

“ With the greatest pleasure imaginable,” said the Master ; 
“I’ll probably have an opportunity to-morrow, after divine service 
at the Temple ; the subject will be extremely apropos to a ser- 
mon from Benson.” 

A week elapsed, and nothing was heard from the Master in 
Chancery. Mrs. Primrose then had a note from him, requesting 
her to send him the Vicar’s address. This was quite enough to 
set the hearts of his friends beating. 

The Vicar received a letter with the great seal on it ; at least 
if it was not the actual great seal, it was the greatest that had 
ever been seen in the parish of Underwood. 

After puzzling himself to write a becoming answer, he gave 
it up, and protested it would save him time and trouble to go up 
himself to London. He came up to town • accordingly, waited 
on the Chancellor the first thing he didfand after astonishing 
his Lordship by declining a much better living than Underwood, 
he entertained him by a narrative of the circumstances which 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 395 

led to his preaching a sermon of Bishop Wyndl .m’s compo- 
sition. 

“ Mr. Medlicott said the Chancellor, “ I respect your frank- 
ness as much as I admire your humour ; you deserve a better 
living for your sincerity than I had it in my power to offer you 
for your preaching, but this is the best thing now at my disposal, 
and you will permit me to press you to withdraw your refusal, 
though dictated by so nice a sense of honour.” 

“ I am sensible of your goodness, my lord,” replied the Vi- 
car; “but the very subject of the sermon I had the honour of 
preaching before you so many years ago would make my accept- 
ance of your generous offer an act of peculiar and glaring incon- 
sistency.” 

“ Let me see,” said the Chancellor, “ it was upon the nature 
and office of conscience. I well remember a fine comparison of 
an accusing conscience to the statue of Juno in* an ancient tem- 
ple, which stared full upon her worshippers wherever they stood, 
and even when they had passed by, seemed to follow them with 
her eye still.” 

“ Yes, my lord,” said the Vicar, “ my life would not be worth 
a week’s purchase with that terrible eye upon me, as it would 
infallibly be, if I owed my preferment to another man’s deserts.” 

This occurred in the Chancellor’s chamber. He was in his 
robes, on the point of stepping into court. There was no time 
for further discourse, had there been occasion for it. The Chan- 
cellor shook his hand cordially, and in a few minutes was ab- 
sorbed in the intricacies of a case, which had probably already 
ruined a couple of generations. 

The Vicar went from the Chancellor direct to Pall Mall, 
where he found his son and the Primroses, who saw him enter 
with astonishment, but immediately guessed the reason of his 
journey to London. 

“ What are you, sir ?” cried Hyacinth, warmly greeting him. 

“Vicar of Underwood.” 

“ Then you have not yet seen the Chancellor.” 

The Vicar then told his story, which variously affected his 
audience; Hyacinth was exceedingly displeased at what he con- 
sidered an excess of scrupulosity : Reuben was delighted that 
his father had done exactly what lie declared he would have 
done himself : Mrs. Primrose sometimes agreed with her hus- 
band, sometimes with her nephew ; sometimes she was at a loss 
what to think or what to say, a natural and not unusual state of 
the feminine understandiror. 


396 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


CHAPTER VII. 

MR. MEDLICOTT IN OFFICE. 

“But surely,” said Mrs. Wyndham, “ there are other good 
things besides livings in the Chancellor’s gift ; perhaps while his 
heart is warm, he might be induced to do something for Reuben.” 

“ I protest,” said Mrs. Primrose; “I’ll give Master Turner 
another hint.” 

“ Give him another dinner,” said De Tabley. 

Mre. Primrose wrote an invitation that instant. 

“I should not wonder,” said the chaplain, “if we have found 
out at last the situation in life that my clever and accomplished 
friend is best adapted for, a jolly sinecure under tlifc Crown, like 
De Tabley’s, one of those rosy bowers about the Court, or well- 
feathered nests at Somerset House, or Greenwich Hospital, 
where, blessed with emolument and unperplexed with duty, a 
man has time to think, which nothing interrupts like the hurry 
of business ; and leisure to dine, which nothing spoils like the 
thought of to-morrow morning.” 

De Tabley never liked to be considered a sinecurist, and said 
he “knew of no such rosy bowers and cosy nests as Primrose 
spoke of. All non-officials talked in the same strain. He 
wished his friend Hyacinth would only try a week’s duty in the 
Comptrollership of the Navy Victualling Department.” 

“ Will you take the Bishop’s chaplaincy for the same time ?” 
replied Hyacinth. 

De Tabley shook his head, laughed, and said “ he had no 
doubt that was a post of considerable difficulty.” 

“ You have no notion of it,” said the other ; “ but when 
uncle Tom goes to school, the business will not be so heavy.” 

The Vicar meanwhile was paying his respects to the Bishop 
whom he now saw for the first time since his elevation to tin 
bench. Tom was rolling on the floor of the study, very busy, 
like a true “ chip of the old block,” building castles with the 
blue-books, and enlarging and altering them with parliamentary 
papers of all kinds. His cot with the purple velvet curtains 
stood in a corner, but he was now too great a fellow to sleep in 
it, and only used it as a general receptacle for the toys and bon- 
bons with which he was loaded by all his scq aaintances, espe- 
cially by the wives of the Shrewsbury clergy. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


397 


The kind reception old Mr. Medlicott met with from his ven- 
erable father-in-law affected him extremely. The Bishop 
thought he had been over-scrupulous in refusing the living, but 
highly commended his probity and disinterestedness, and hoped 
it would soon be in his power to offer him something in Shrews- 
bury worth his acceptance. The Vicar then said he regretted it 
had not been suggested to the Chancellor to ^provide for Reuben 
in some way or other. 

The Bishop looked surprised at this suggestion, and at first 
the Vicar thought he was displeased at it; he rose from his 
chair, swung himself about the room, puffed his cheeks, pro- 
truded his lower lip, assisted Tom in his building for a moment; 
then pulled out his enormous watch, like the clock of a church, 
said he must go down to the House of Lords, and desired the 
v icar not to fail to dine with him between six and seven. 

The Bishop went straight to the point, while Mrs. Primrose 
was beating about the bush, with her diplomatic notes to Master 
Turner. Reuben was nominated that very day to an appoint- 
ment of high respectability in connection with the Court of 
Chancery ; the salary from seven to eight hundred a year, with 
a little patronage attached, and perquisites that brought it up to 
nearly the clear thousand. 

“ I know the office well,” said De Tabley, “ one of the very 
jest things going.” 

“Except that, I fear, it leads to nothing,” said Mrs. Wyndham. 

“ Leads to nothing !” exclaimed Hyacinth ; “ at the worst it 
leads to Blackwall and Richmond.” 

“Is it compatible with Parliament?” said Mrs. Primrose, 
aside to the Vicar. 

“No, Catherine,” he replied, “and so much the better upon 
many accounts.” 

There was some little apprehension, for various reasons, on 
the part of several of his friends, that Mr. Medlicott would hesi- 
tate to accept the appointment, great as its advantages were ; in 
his embarrassed and critical circumstances nothing less than a 
splendid piece of good fortune. But, if he had his doubts, he 
kept them to himself, and upon the whole abandoned himself 
with wonderful resignation to the receipt of a handsome salary 
and the tranquil enjoyments of office. 

The report at Chichester was that Reuben had joined the 
Cabinet. Alderman Codd met Mr. Pigwidgeon, and gave him 
an unctuous description of the emolument »nd dignity of the ap- 


398 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


pointment. Mr. Medlicott, he understood, intended to give his 
friends a grand dinner, — turtle and venison and iced punch. 

Mr. Pigwidgeon said he had no doubt the place was a rank 
sinecure, which ought to have been abolished long ago ; but at 
the same time it was a wonderful come-down for a man who had 
cocked up his nose so high as Mr. Medlicott. He was sincerely 
sorry to see it. There was his son who had scorned to accept 
anything under the government of an island. He was now his 
Excellency Sir Theodore Pigwidgeon, and could hang anybody 
he pleased in the island without judge or jury. 

“ Be that as it may,” said the Alderman, “ turtle-soup is not a 
bad thing.” 

“ Why do you talk of turtle ?” said the Apothecary, “ sure my 
son is in the place that turtle comes from.” 

One of the pleasant circumstances of Mr. Medlicott’s new posi- 
tion was that it only involved personal attendance in term-time, 
so that it was not necessary to give up his gardening, or relinquish 
Mr. Cox’s country-house, which he now held at a fair rent, but 
one which was never demanded nor paid. Another was the 
little patronage at his disposal. He was now enabled to provide 
for two of his godsons. Reuben Gosling was his first clerk and 
receiver of fees, with two hundred per annum ; Reuben Medlicott 
Robinson his second, with half that salary. The former was a 
smart forward young man, not only clever at arithmetic and 
book-keeping, but sharp at everything ; his travels in America 
and Reuben’s favour had made him inordinately conceited ; he 
thought no girl could withstand his charms, and laid out the 
greater part of his salary on finery to render himself still more 
attractive. The latter was an industrious, quiet, timid boy, proud 
of nothing but his name ; he thought Mr. Medlicott the greatest 
man living, and would willingly have died in his service, which 
Mr. Gosling would not have done. 

It was curious to observe the different views which the relatives 
and friends of Reuben took of his present situation. His female 
friends in general were disposed to be uneasy l^st the duties of 
liis office should prove too severe for him ; his wife was appre- 
hensive of his suffering from mental anxiety ; Mrs. Primrose was 
more afraid of sedentary habits and indigestion ; Charmette 
warned him against corpulence ; but his mother was haunted 
by errors of all sorts, particularly about his spirits and his lungs ; 
she provoked the Vicar excessively by doubting whether, upon 
the whole, Reuben had acted wisely in accepting the place. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


399 


“ If there are twenty right views of any subject,” said the 
Vicar, “ and. only one wrong one, a woman will infallibly take 
the latter.” 

“ I don’t mean to say,” said Mrs. Medlicott, “ that the situa- 
tion has not its advantages.” 

“ And you may safely trust himself for discovering its advan- 
tages,” said the Vicar. 

There was one discovery, indeed, which Mr. Medlicott made 
before _he was an official of three months’ standing. This was 
the fact that, beyond signing his name a certain number of times 
in the day there was little or no duty which Mr. Gosling was 
not perfectly competent to discharge ; and he mentioned this to 
De Tabley in a tone of complaint, as if he had been betrayed 
into accepting that office by delusive representations. 

De Tabley smiled, and said it was a singular complaint to 
make, even if the fact were so ; but for his part, he added, he 
always found something to do in the Victualling Department, 
and he could hardly believe that in such a department as Chan- 
cery any place could be a complete sinecure. Why the very 
fleecing of the public to so great extent could not but be a work 
of considerable labour. 

Reuben laughed at the word labour, as being ludicrously in- 
applicable to all the work done in the course of the week by 
himself and his godsons together. 

“ You will find more to do, when you have been longer in 
the office, — I speak from qyperience,” said the other. 

“Perhaps so,” said Reuben. De Tabley, indeed, was that 
kind of man who in truth would have been content if his office 
had been discharged of all duty whatever; he would never have 
quarrelled with it on that account. At the same time he was 
not only most attentive to such business as he had to do, but he 
made it seem ten times as great as it actually was, by his leisurely 
and ostentatious manner of transacting it. He perfectly under- 
stood the art of seeming wise and appearing busy. He never 
wrote a short memorandum ; his minutes took hours to read ; 
he multiplied references, accumulated papers, used larger enve- 
lopes, greater seals, and more miles of red tape and green ribbon 
than anybody else in the public service. His table always sug- 
gested the idea of affairs the most numerous and weighty. He 
wrote all his private letters in office hours, upon official stationery, 
sealed them with official seals, and dispatched them by official 
messengers. There was always a difficulty about seeing him, 


400 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


and he was never surprised reading a newspaper or a novel, 
smoking a cigar, lunching, or taking a siesta in his easy chair 
Then he never left his office without carrying away with him a 
box of papers, or a couple of blue-books, which impressed the 
spectators with the belief that even his private hours were en- 
croached on by his public employments. He kept the mes- 
sengers and junior clerks in a constant hurry and ferment, and 
by all these arts and contrivances, systematically practised, he 
convinced hundreds, and eventually persuaded himself, that he 
was a very hard-worked and meritorious public servant. 

Business, however, grew so little upon Mr. Medlicott, that he 
had not only time enough on his hands to make long sojourns 
at Chichester, and pay occasional visits to his grandfather at 
Shrewsbury or Westbury, but ample leisure to renew his inter- 
course with his Quaker friends, who continued to believe him 
the foremost man of the age, and stuck to him the more firmly 
because they considered him a martyr to the envy or stupidity 
of the House of Commons. He now became treasurer to the 
Peace Society at Harvey’s solicitation : but this gave him no 
increase of trouble, for Mr. Gosling took all the labour on him- 
self, received the money, kept the books, prepared the accounts, 
did everything in fact that was to be done with an ease and 
cleverness that raised him still higher in his godfather’s good 
pinion. 

With all Mr. Gosling’s cleverness, however, Reuben found at 
the end of a year that the profits of his office were not so con- 
siderable as he had been led to expect This was a more un- 
pleasant discovery than the first he had made. When he men- 
tioned it to De Tabley, the latter hoped he had an efficient and 
trustworthy clerk to receive the fees. 

, w The cleverest fellow in Edgland,” said Mr. Medlicott, in 
everything connected with money ; the best accountant, the 
best book-keeper ; a most deserving and promising young man.” 

“ I hope you audit his accounts, nevertheless,” said his friend. 

“ Perfectly unnecessary,” said Reuben ; “ he has such a lumi- 
nous method of book-keeping that his accounts, in fact, audit 
themselves.” 

The clever young man in question came in at the moment 
with some papers for his chief’s signature. 

“ Is that your Receiver ?” said De Tabley, after having scruti- 
nised the godson from top to toe with his eye-glass. 

“ I see,” answered Reuben “ you are surprised to se< r.im 


JR, THE COMING MAN. 401 

rigged out so smartly. Poor fellow, dress istlie only indulgence 
he allows himself.” 

De Tabley was at Blackwall the following day, and noticed 
the Receiver at a table not far from his own, entertaining two 
companions at a regular white- bait dinner. He mentioned this 
to Reuben, who thought it his duty to speak on the subject to 
his godson. It was all a mistake. Mr. Reuben Gosling did not 
even know whether Blackwall was up the Thames or down the 
Thames. “ And as to white-bait, sir,” said “ I do not know 
whether it is fish or fowl ; I never tasted it in my life, and never 
hope to do so.” 

What could be more satisfactory ? Indeed, there never was a 
public officer so happy in clerk or secretary, for Mr. Gosling soon 
showed him that by imitating his handwriting he could even 
save him the trouble of signing papers ; the consequence of which 
was that in the second year of his placemanship Mr. Medlicott 
scarcely showed his face three times in the purlieus of the Court 
of Chancery. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MR. MEDLIOOTT RENOUNCES THE ERRORS OF BEEF AND MUTTON. 

It was at this period, or thereabouts, that the still sanguine 
and ambitious Mr. Medlicott, applying his versatile mind to new 
objects of interest, was converted (through the exertions of Harvey 
principally) to the doctrines and practices of the vegetarians. He 
expatiated publicly on the subject in the Hanover Square Rooms 
to large audiences, chiefly composed of hypochondriacs who had 
lost their confidence in Parr’s pills, and the regular dreary old 
pack of London lecture-goers, the same sort of people who are 
now to be seen flocking to lectures on animal magnetism and 
electro-biology. In his garden at Chichester he now devoted 
himself almost exclusively to the culture of vegetables, and an- 
nounced himself to the world as an epicurean of the true school, 
and the only real possessor of the elixir of life. This was the 
only absurdity in which Mr. Medlicott was ever countenanced 
by his grandfather. The Bishop, now very old, was not the less 
disposed to live upon that account ; but was determined, on the 
contrary, to live as long as he could, partly because he was 


402 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


thinking gravely of rebuilding the palace, partly because he was 
anxious to see his son well settled in the world. 

Mr. Primrose beginning one morning to ridicule the vegetarian 
heresy, as he called it, got himself unexpectedly snubbed. The 
Bishop took up the cause of the peas against the ducks, and 
disparaged the lamb while he magnified the spinach. Nor was 
this mere table-talk. Tom was put upon vegetable diet soon 
after, Mr. Primrose began to tremble for his saddle of mutton 
and haunch of venison, and a feeling of alarm and insecurity, 
beginning with the chaplain, crept from parish to parish, and 
soon pervaded the whole diocese. Who could tell where such a 
revolution would stop ? The larder in danger, would the cellar 
long be safe ? Serious encroachments on the Protestant religion 
have often excited less apprehension in the minds of a portion of 
the clergy of the Church of England. Some of the very divines 
whose gorge rose upon this occasion at the idea of dining on a 
cauliflower, have since been known to swallow crucifixes and 
candlesticks, things the hardest, one would suppose, to be 
stomached by a clergyman of the Church of England. 

After corresponding with his grandson for some time on the 
most improved modes of cultivating and cooking vegetables, to 
make them as worthy as possible of being used exclusively for 
the food of man, his lordship was seized with a sudden desire to 
see with his own eyes how Mr. Medlicott practised the system 
both in the garden and the kitchen, and announced his resolution 
to pay him a visit. No day however was fixed, nor could the 
Bishop be prevailed on to fix one, which was most uncomfortable 
for Mrs. Medlicott, for she was kept in a state of continual anxiety, 
not knowing the moment when a personage of such consequence 
would arrive. The house being §o small, it was decided to 
remove to Mr. Cox’s town residence (for he happened to be absent 
at the time), and surrender Virginia entirely to the Wyndhams 
during their stay. The Bishop for weeks continued shilly-shally, 
and at length arrived'at the most unlucky of all possible moments. 
Mr. Medlicott and his father were dining with Canon Oldport, 
whose dining days were not yet over. Mai-y had gone with her 
children to her aged mother’s cottage, leaving full instructions 
with her trusty maids how to act in case visitors should arrive, 
for it had been arranged that whenever the Bishop came, he 
should call first at the house in town. Dorothy and Jenny, 
however, saw no reason for expecting the Bishop on that evening 
more than ^another, and they thought they might very well 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


403 


venture to pop out for a quarter of an hour, to gossip with their 
acquaintances in the neighbourhood. They had not deserted 
their posts for five minutes, when a huge travelling coach-and- 
four drove up to Mr. Cox’s, just such a coach as Squire Wrong- 
head in the. play travels up to London in. Old Matthew’s door 
never experienced such a thundering salute. Again, again, and 
again, more like cannonading than knocking, with no reply but 
the echo of the empty house, while the choler of a very stout old 
gentleman, with a shovel-hat, who was mounted on the box, with 
a blooming boy at his side, rose at every unavailing application 
to the knocker. At length a little group of idlers collected, 
attracted by the noise, and curious to see a bishop on so unusual 
a bench. 

Mr. Primrose alighted, and asked the civilest-looking of the 
bystanders whether this was not Mr. Cox’s house. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And is not M«. Medlicott residing here at present ?” 

“ What Mr. Medlicott ?” 

Primrose wss amazed at the question. 

“ Such is popularity,” growled the Bishop, unable to avoid 
philosophising, angry as he was. “ Mr. Reuben Medlicott,” said 
the chaplain. 

“ Is it the market-gardener ?” asked another of the loungers. 

“ Oh, it’s orator Medlicott the gentleman wants,” said a third ; 
“ but he doesn’t live here, sir, he lives at the Snuff-Box.” 

“ We had better go at once to Virginia,” said thfe sweet voice 
of Blanche from the inside ; “Virginia is a prettier name than 
the Snuff-Box,” she added, with a mile, aside to the chaplain. 

“ Drive to Virginia,” called the Bishop to the postillions. 
The chaplain asked advice as to the road, and away dashed the 
coach-and-four up the green lane. 

It was the same thing at Virginia ; the bell that hung in the 
horse-chestnut was nearly pulled down with ringing. The Bishop 
shouted to make himself heard, but there was nobody there to 
hear him, nor any rejoinder but the honest bark of Constable, 
who seemed to be the only officer in charge of the premises. In 
fact it was a very ugly business altogether, and there seemed no 
remedy but to return to Chichester and go to the Parrot. How- 
ever, when they came back to Mr. Cox’s house, all was right ; 
Mr. Medlicott was at the door, just returned from Mr.* Oldport’s, 
There was no time, of course, to lecture the maids that night 
It was almost dark. Reuben" mounted the dickey, and con 


404 : 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


ducted the party back again to Virginia, where, before they were 
settled for the night, there was an hour of such fuss as that quiet 
retreat had never experienced before. Among other causes of 
confusion, it turned out that in place of a portmanteau with the 
Bishop’s ordinary linen, a trunk with his lawn-sleeves and mitre 
had been brought down to the country. There was always some 
mistake of the kind wherever he went. Mr. Medlicott did the 
best he could to redress grievances, and then returned to town 
to rejoin his wife. 

The overhauling of the delinquent maids at an early hour 
on the following morning was a sight worth the seeing. Old 
Matthew’s wainscoted dining-room was the court of sessions : 
there sat the ex-member for Chichester in Mat’s elbow chair (a 
chair from which justice had often before uttered her oracles), a 
self-constituted magistrate within his private domestic jurisdic- 
tion. Not far off sat his wife, in her semi-Quakerly habit, the 
gray silk gown, and the crisp white muslin, more than usually 
sedate, as became the gravity of the occasion. You heard the 
sighings and dolorous interjections of the offenders before they 
came to the bar. The meekest possible tap at the door heralded 
their appearance, and they entered in their neat tight jackets 
and gay petticoats, with their faces buried in their bosoms, their 
hands industrious with the strings of their snowy aprons, neither 
pressing herself forward, but rather wishing to prefer the other 
to the place of honor. One of the poor things was ordered to 
shut-to the door. Then Reuben began, and never did any jus- 
tice of the peace paint crime in livelier colours, or so sting to the 
quick the conscience of the trembling criminals before him, as 
he did that morning in the rating he gave his delinquent hand- 
maids ; while at the end of every sentence his wife nodded her 
full approbation, as one judge upon the bench is seen to sanction 
in dumb-show the law as laid down by his learned brother. 
Reuben expounded the duties of domestics lucidly ; what faith 
was reposed in them, what diligence and fidelity was expected 
from them ; how they were trustees of their master’s goods and 
chattels in his absence, how the safety of houses and the well- 
being of families depended upon their vigilance and good be- 
haviour. Then he detailed instances of fires, and examples of 
robberies, which had taken place because maids preferred gad- 
ding to minding their business ; and Mrs. Medlicott, as arnica 
curice, reminded him of on^ or two cases in point which had 
escaped his recollection. If these topics made the guilty crea- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


405 


tures tremble, imagine how they felt when ne went on to de- 
liver the law of the land ; with what eyes it regarded and with 
what correction it punished disorderly servants. Here he spoke 
with particular authority, for, as member for the city, he had 
been ex officio a visitor, and in some sort a controller of bride- 
wells, and could reveal the secrets of the prison-house ; but even 
this was not the climax of his address. It was not until, with 
artfully lowered voice and touching manner, he came to speak 
of the kindness and favour with which you Dorothy, and you 
Jenny, had been invariably treated by the mildest and best of 
mistresses, not overworked and under-fed like many of your de- 
gree, never grudged a holiday, never forbidden to see an aunt or 
a godmother, — it was not until he came to this that the grand 
effect was produced ; and the fair penitents, unable to bear more, 
began to weep and sob so, that had their eloquent master in 
tended to close his address with a sentence, the girls were scarce- 
ly in a condition to hear or understand jt. However, even had 
the judgment-seat been so austere, the mercy-seat was there, 
with the gracious Mary upon it, to mitigate whatever doom 
should be pronounced. The girls had done wisely in throwing 
themselves upon the clemency of the court, and they were dis- 
missed, still weeping, with the simple condition of never trans- 
gressing again while they wore petticoats, at least while they 
wore Mr. Medlicott’s colours. 

The day commenced early, because the Medlicotts were anx- 
ious to join their guests at the country-house. Thither they re- 
paired immediately, laughing children, repentant maids, and all 
to be in time to receive the Bishop and his suite at breakfast. 
On the way, Mrs. Medlicott told her husband that she was very 
uneasy in her mind, having dreamed last night that the roof of 
the house had fallen in under the weight of the flower-beds, 
directly over the room occupied by the Bishop. Reuben smiled, 
repeated his conviction that all was perfectly safe, and in a few 
moments there was proof enough that his wife’s dream had come 
through the ivory portal ; for when they entered the grounds, 
the first person they saw was the glorious old prelate himself, 
going round the house and round the house, and planning and 
almost ordering some alteration or reconstruction of every part 
of it. At intervals he would pause, and scold either his chaplain 
or his wife about his shirts, desiring to know whether they in- 
tended him to walk about the fields in full canonicals, as if it 
was a coronation or the opening of Parliament. 


406 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


Mr. Primrose ventured to observe that as the episcopal office 
was a pastoral one, there would be no great impropriety in his 
lordship wearing his lawn-sleeves in the meadows. 

Mr. Medlicott said that Bacon’s observations on the mon- 
arch’s crown would apply equally well to the bishop’^ mitre, that 
to wear it with ease it ought to be worn every day. 

The Bishop took no notice of what any of them said, but 
walked about with Tom by the hand, admiring the garden, 
which really deserved the praise he gave it, for between the 
finest of vegetables and the finest of flowers, it was nothing short 
of a wilderness of beauty. 

“ You have done well, sir,” said the Bishop, “ to couple Flora 
with Pomona ; what can be more odoriferous than those beans ? 
what gayer than those scarlet-runners ? that cabbage-rose is not 
disgraced by growing beside the worthy vegetable from which 
it derives its name.” 

“ Observe, sir, the extraordinary diameter of that head,” said 
Reuben ; “ it measures nearly two feet' from pole to pole. I am 
proud to have produced it ; it makes me feel like the creator of 
a world.” 

“ There is a world of nourishment in it,” said the Bishop, “ and 
as much wonder to the eye of the philosopher as in the great 
globe itself.” 

“ Gardening, sir, after all, is a noble employment,” said Mr. 
Medlicott. 

The Bishop assented without speaking. 

“ Rather earthly, is it not ? ” said the chaplain. 

“ No, sir,” said his master, turning round upon him with 
severity, “ not earthlier than any other human employment, nor 
so earthly as many; it well represents the proper division of 
the mind of man between this world and the next. While the 
gardener digs the ground, his looks are fixed upon it ; when he 
rests upon his spade, he lifts his eyes to heaven.” 

There was a sublimity not only in the thought, but in the 
Bishop’s tone and manner of expressing it. 

“ Os homini sublime dedit , ccelumque tueri ,” said Mr. Prim- 
rose, to cover his defeat. 

“ Noble verse,” said Reuben. 

“ It ought to be Virgil’s,” said the Bishop. 

“ Breakfast is ready,” said little Chichester, creeping m 
among them all, a messenger from his mother, who had been 
busy all this time preparing the morning repast. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


407 


The first thing the Bishop thought of after breakfast was 
his shirts again. He told Reuben that he must get a shirt by 
hook or by crook. There was no great difficulty about it, be- 
cause Mr. Medlicott was now himself a portly man, and his 
shirts promised to fit his grandfather fairly enough. He chose 
one of the newest, and gave it to 'the old man, who marched off 
with it to his chamber, crushing it in his hands as if it was no 
more than a napkin. 

Ah, Dorothy, Dorothy, so soon to be in a scrape again, 
scarcely an hour out of the hands of justice; the tears scarce- 
dry upon your cheek with which you implored and obtained 
mercy ! 

The Bishop no sooner entered his bedroom than he saw an- 
other member of the hierarchy standing in the middle of the 
floor, and in full -pontifical attire, not only in his lawn-sleeves, 
but with his mitre on his head. He seemed to be admiring 
himself, too, in a large mirror, for he was looking over his 
shoulder, and was so intent on the prospect, that his brother of 
Shrewsbury was within a yard of him before his approach was 
noticed. 

“How now, Mistress Curiosity!” shouted the Bishop, not 
long in discovering who it was that was dressed in his robes. 

The maid screamed, pulled off the mitre and threw it on the 
bed, shuffled off the lawn with equal haste, and flew from the 
room almost into the arms of her master, who, hearing the girl 
scream, had hastened to tire door, greatly shocked at his grand- 
father’s behaviour in alarming his maids after such a fashion. 

It was a serious misdemeanour on Dorothy’s part, and 
greatly aggravated by the mercy so lately extended to her mis- 
deeds ; but, nevertheless, she got through this scrape easier than 
the last ; the comic nature of her fault protected her from its 
just retribution ; and had either her master or mistress proposed 
any form of penalty, there would have been an unanimous out- 
cry in the offender’s behalf. 

Mr. Primrose was not long in giving her the title of the 
Bishop of Virginia ; and the old gentleman meeting her again 
in the course of the day, sweeping the house very diligently, 
told her “ he wished he could keep his diocese as clean as she 
kept hers.” 


408 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN WHICH ANOTHER BUBBLE BURSTS. 

The Bishop, indeed, found himself so comfortable, and liked 
everybody and everything about him so well, that before dinner 
he announced his resolution to remain for a ^veek under his 
grandson’s roof,- and even talked of leaving Tom behind him, 
which Blanche knew very well he would not do, when it came 
to the point. In fact he seldom let Tom out of his sight, and 
was miserable if he escaped for a moment to play with Chiches- 
ter, lest he should be drowned in some duck-pond, devoured 
by Constable, or lost in some imaginary labyrinth of the 
garden. 

“ Depend upon it, sir,” he said to Reuben, “ you have hit 
upon the true mode of enjoying life at last ; happiness depends 
upon three things (humanly speaking), health, contentment, and 
security : here you have all three ; as to health, you have ar- 
rived at the great secret of preserving it ; as to content, you 
have everything here that a man of sense and philosophy can 
require ; and as to security (with that snug place in Chan- 
cery), I see nothing that is likely to interrupt it, until the hour 
comes that comes to all men, and you fall like a ripe pear, or the 
last leaf of October.” 

“ Indeed, sir,” said Reuben, “ I think it highly probable that 
this will be the longest chapter of my life, if not also the last 
one. But I have now to put a practical question to you and to 
my other guests, — shall we dine in the usual apartment, or in 
the tower, or speculum, from which we command a most exten- 
sive and superb prospect ?” 

u Not in the speculum ,” said the Bishop ; “lam not such a 
climber as I was in former days.” 

“ As you were, sir,” said Blanche, “ when you took us all to 
see the new houses in Barsac Square, and made my poor father 
and uncle follow you up the ladders, at the risk of their lives. 
You remember that, Reuben ?” 

“ That I do well, fair grandmamma,” said Mr. Medlicott. 

“ No,” continued the Bishop, “ order the table to be laid un- 
der the trees ; the wasps are not come yet ; and remember ! — • 
no compromise, no infraction of the system, — neither fish, flesh, 
nor fowl, — if Primrose will not feast with us and Epicurus, let 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


409 


him have his dinner with Aristippus in the buttery, or at the 
sideboard.” 

“My wife has arranged all that,” said Reuben ; “the cloth 
shall be spread, sir, where you propose, and as soon as my father 
and mother arrive, the gong shall toll, and we shall go to 
dinner.” 

The Vicar and old Mrs. Medlicott did not keep the com- 
pany long waiting. Eheu fur/ aces ! — they were both much al- 
tered since we first introduced them to the reader’s acquaintance. 
The Vicar’s head was now very hoary ; his teeth were fewer 
in number; his gait much tardier; his rosy cheeks and the sly 
humourous twinkle in his eye, were the only respects in which he 
was not greatly changed. His wife was more changed still, but 
the change was, on the whole, to her advantage ; she had ex- 
panded comfortably in sundry directions ; her hair was now pure 
silver, without being diminished in quantity; and though she 
still had the didactic air of the schoolmistress, she was altogether 
a comelier woman in the winter than she had been in the sum- 
mer of her days. 

But there goes the gong, sounding the tocsin of conviviality ! 
To the pastoral table, with the blue above and the green below, 
the portly and handsome Reuben conducted the fairest and 
youngest of grand mothers, the steadiest of friends, the best of 
little women. The veteran prelate (fine old oak that he was of 
the English forest) escorted his meek, amiable, semi-Quakerly 
hostess. To the Vicar’s share fell the goodly prize of his buxom 
sister-in-law, in whom (although no Dryden has commemorated 
her worth) there dwelt as many virtues as in Eleanora herself, 
or Mrs. Killigrew. The chaplain had Hobson’s choice, and 
led the senior Mrs. Medlicott to the board, where he took his 
seat with wonderful good grace, considering the bleak prospect 
before him ; but then he had a glimpse of a cold sirloin on a 
side-table not far off, which probably helped to preserve his 
serenity. 

The table, spread on a patch of smooth emerald sward, in 
an open space near the house, was as perfect as neatness could 
make it without splendour or expense. The only piece of plate 
was that which the electors of Chichester had presented to Mr. 
Medlicott when he retired from the representation. A few vases 
of Mary’s finest flowers were the only other ornaments. At 
each corner stood a great crystal or glass jug of the brightest 
water. Mr. Primrose and the Vicar had no objection to the 
18 


410 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUSJ 

brightness ; but they would both have been better pleased if the 
taste in colours displayed in the costume of the maids had also 
prevailed in the contents of the decanters. The company stood. 
The chaplain pronounced the benison, but probably would have 
pronounced it with more unction, had he not but too clearly 
foreseen what the uncovering of the dishes would reveal. Dor- 
othy and Jane performed this part of their duty with as much 
gravity and importance as if they were ministering at the most 
formal dinner. At the head, before the master of the feast, 
stood a dish of enormous cauliflowers, like the wigs of chancel- 
lors, garnished with Brussels sprouts, arranged with evident at- 
tention to pictorial effect. At the foot, before Mr. Primrose, were 
parsnips and carrots, also artistically combined, the parsnips ar- 
ranged in a circular heap, from which the carrots radiated like 
spurs; indeed the dish resembled nothing so much as an im 
mense sunflower. On the left was spinach without lamb, and 
beans without bacon ; on the right, peas separated from ducks, 
and turnips divorced from the leg of mutton. Potatoes dressed 
in six different ways were distributed at intervals. There were 
salads with oil for people who knew what salads ought to be, 
and salads with cream for people who did not. There were re- 
moves of asparagus and artichokes ; and the second course con- 
sisted of peas of younger growth, mushrooms variously cooked, 
and several new species of vegetables which Mr. Medlicott was 
endeavouring to naturalise in England. 

The Bishop had always been a lusty diner, and he now dined 
as lustily and voraciously on all manner of vegetables as he had 
ever done in his life on more savoury and substantial things. 
He commended everything in succession, and only paused in his 
commendations to eat again. All his intolerance of character 
came out upon this occasion ; he was angry when anybody re- 
fused an artichoke or declined a second helping of peas ; and he 
never saw Jenny or Dorothy stealing a slice of the sirloin on 
either the Vicar’s plate or his chaplain’s, but he scowled at the 
poor girl from under his grizzly brows, called the taste for ani- 
mal food a deplorable bigotry, and spoke in the most unhand- 
some and unbecoming terms of the roast beef of old England. 

“ Now, my lord Bishop,” said the host, after he had pretty 
well distributed his fine cauliflowers, “good eating, says the 
adage, requires good drinking ; let me call your attention to the 
sparkling flask near von ; I have the honour to pledge you in a 
glass of' it.” 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


Ml 


The Bishop crowned his glass, quoting Pindar in praise of 
the virtues of cold water with a jovial air, and pushed the croft 
to the Vicar, who (being less subservient than the chaplain) hon- 
estly confessed that his tastes were more Anacreontic than Pin- 
daric, adding a sly remark, that Pindar after all was a Boeotian, 
and consequently no very great authority with him. 

“ A fair hit,’ 7 said the Bishop ; “ you deserve a glass of port 
for it.” 

“ You shall have it, father,” said Reuben ; and handing a key 
to Dorothy, he instructed her to fetch the wine. 

The wine came ; Mr. Primrose quietly seconded the Vicar in 
disposing of it, while the host and his grandfather adhered to the 
more innocent beverage in the croft, which certainly could not 
have promoted loquacity more, had it beenBourdeaux or Burgundy. 
Reuben talked largely (and on the whole with magnanimity) of 
the House of Commons ; his grandfather talked of both Houses 
when it came to his turn, and although the old stager talked too 
much, he was certainly the least garrulous of the two. The rest were 
mere listeners, though perhaps only the senior Mrs. Medlicot.t list- 
ened w T ith profound attention. She thought her son much too 
lenient in his criticisms on the Lower Chamber ; and from her 
father’s observations on the Upper one, satisfied herself thorough- 
ly that Reuben had only failed in Parliament because he had not 
the good fortune to have been born a peer. 

Once or twice the Bishop forgot himself, and filled his glass 
from the bottle of port, but by tacit consent the mistake was 
connived at by the company. In short, he so thoroughly enjoy- 
ed his vegetarian entertainment, that, although the shades of 
evening had begun to prevail, he could not be induced to rise, 
until numerous great drops of rain foretold the approach of a 
heavy shower, and rendered a precipitate retreat within doors 
advisable. 

“ We shall have a wet night,” said the Bishop, looking at the 
barometer, which was falling rapidly. 

It proved the wettest night he ever passed in his life, but the 
weight of moisture in the clouds was not altogether to blame for 
it. With the greatest difficulty did Reuben and his wife effect 
their return to Chichester in safety ; and it was also as much as 
the Vicar could do to get back to Underwood without being 
drowned. Reuben slept soundly. His wife did not sleep for 
many hours, not so much thinking of her dream as of the natural 
and only too probable effect of such weather upon the roof of her 


412 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


country house. At length she began to doze, but it was on.y 
to dream again of the same perils, and before long the images of 
terror which filled her mind began to be mingled with strange, 
sharp, intermitting sounds. She awoke in terror, and sat up in 
the bed ; the sounds were too real ; it was a loud knocking at 
the street door. With no little difficulty she awakened her hus- 
band. He threw the window open and inquired who the dis- 
turber was, and the cause of this untimely visitation. It was one 
of his gardeners from Virginia, with the news that the tank on 
the roof had either overflowed, or given way (the exact nature of 
the disaster was as yet unknown), and that the whole house had 
in a moment been deluged with water. The fright which this 
intelligence caused her proved nearly fatal to poor Mrs. Medlicott. 
Reuben was unable to leave her for nearly an hour, urgently as 
his presence was required in the country. When he got to Vir- 
ginia, he found the house empty. The Bishop and his family, 
having narrowly escaped with their lives, had taken refuge at the 
Vicarage, which was the nearest asylum to them, and there Reu- 
ben (after a rigid inspection of his hydraulic arrangements, too 
late to be of use to anybody) found them all in a most dismal 
and uncomfortable pickle, drying their clothes at a great fire in 
the kitchen, and relating the particulars of their several adven- 
tures and escapes. The Bishop, with Tom in his arms, had ac- 
tually escaped with only his old dressing-gown and a blanket to 
cover him. 

Nothing could exceed the good nature of Mrs. Primrose and 
Mrs. Wyndham; they felt for Reuben much more than for 
themselves, and tried to speak of what had occurred as people 
do of that class of fatalities to which it is commonly said that 
the best regulated houses are subject. The Bishop was in a 
different mood ; had he stormed ever so furiously, it w r ould have 
alarmed Reuben less than the savage silence which he obsti- 
nately maintained the whole morning; not that he so much 
minded the wetting he got, although at his age it was a serious 
matter ; but it was through the ceiling of the room where Tom 
and his nurse slept that the water had forced its passage : the 
wonderful child of his old age had been saved by little short of a 
miracle; so that it was very well his lordship governed his 
tongue as he did, for he not only severely blamed himself for 
his foolish journey to Chichester, but even repented that he had 
ever made up his quarrel with his unlucky grandson. 

The Bishop never opened his lips until te heard Reuben saiy 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


413 


to Mrs. Wyndham, that unfortunate as the accident was, it w r as 
no more than a carpenter and a plumber would easily set to 
rights in a few hours, so that all would be snug again before 
night. Then his lordship called to his servant, and directed him 
to order post-horses to be ready to start the moment their clothes 
were dry and breakfast was over ; nor was much said by any 
one to alter his resolution. Reuben merely repeated his regret 
that a visit from which he had promised himself so much plea- 
sure had terminated so abruptly. 

“ Abruptly, indeed !” muttered the Bishop ; “ I know nothing 
more abrupt than a water-spout in the middle of the night. It 
came down, sir, over Tom’s bed like the falls of the Rhine at 
Schaff hausen !” 

“ Those are disasters, sir,” said Mr. Medlicott, in a philoso- 
phising and soothing tone of voice, “ which rarely happen twice 
in the course of a man’s life.” 

“ Not to the same person,” said the Bishop. 

Nobody, however, caught a fever, or even a cold, from the 
accident of the ni^ht. When the clothes were all dry, they sat 
down to breakfast, and as cheerless a meal it was as ever a fam- 
ily circle sat down to. It was dismal out of doors into the bar- 
gain ; the rain continued to pour, but without the least effect 
upon the Bishop’s determination to set out. Mr. Medlicott was 
really the only person to be pitied of the party. lie felt more 
prostrated by this spiteful little freak of Fortune, than he had 
often been by some of her heaviest blows. Ilis female friends 
embraced him tenderly ; and perhaps his grandfather himself 
felt at the last moment that his conduct had been too harsh, for 
he shook him by the hand just before he drove off, gave him his 
blessing, and advised him not to think of patching his roof, but 
to take it all down and put on a new one. 

To a man of ordinary steadiness of purpose, such an incident 
as we have just recorded, far from discomposing the whole tenor 
of his existence, would have been no more than a slight tempo- 
rary derangement, such as everything is liable to beneath the 
moon. The annoyance of to-day would have been the jest of to- 
morrow. Such a man would have straightway repaired his 
house, and resumed his ordinary routine of living, nor would all 
the rain in the clouds, or all the morose old bishops and grand- 
fathers in the world, have pushed him out of his track for the 
space of twenty-four hours. But there was no firmness in the 
mind of Mr. Medlicott, and consequently no stability in any 


414 


THE UNIVERSAL GENUS J 


course lie adopted, or in the scheme of his life itself. He wa3 
just the kind of person for Fortune to crack her jokes on, and 
knock about at her caprice and pleasure. His grandsire had 
never hazarded a more unlucky prophecy than when he fore- 
told the permanence of the system which he found instituted, 
and seemingly so flourishing, among the flowers and herbs of 
the garden at Virginia. It may be said to have died while the 
soothsayer was predicting its longevity. Mr. Medlicott, indeed, 
directed the necessary repairs to be executed in the dwelling- 
house, but he never returned to it. His wife remained seriously 
indisposed for some time, having had a premature confinement 
in consequence of the fright she had received ; and upon her re- 
covery he took her with him to London, where he continued to 
reside as long as his official connection with the Court of Chan- 
cery lasted. The profits of that place continued to disappoint 
his fair expectations ; and again and again did De Tabley and 
other friends remonstrate with him on the imprudence of placing 
too much reliance on his subordinates, particularly on Mr. Gos- 
ling, who had for some time been running a rig which might 
well have excited the suspicions of the most confiding of human 
beings. He had chambers in the Albany, kept a cab and a 
tiger, occasionally drove a tandem, was a member of Crockford’s, 
and was even rapidly becoming a noted character on the turf. If 
all was honest and straight, there certainly was not a young man 
in England did half so much with two hundred a-year as he 
did ; but Mr. Medlicott was either not to be shaken in the con- 
fidence he placed in his dashing godson, or he could not bring 
himself to make the exertion necessary to -overhaul his accounts. 
The Peace Society, however, whose funds were also at Mr. Gos- 
ling’s control, was not so negligent of its affairs ; and several 
irregularities having been detected by Mr. Harvey in the way 
the moneys were lodged and the books kept, a committee was 
named to scrutinise everything ; and at the conclusion of a strict 
audit, a deficit was discovered and declared against the treasurer 
to the extent of several hundred pounds. There did not exist a 
doubt on the mind of any man of business that Gosling had em- 
bezzled this sum ; but Mr. Medlicott was urged in vain to hold 
him accountable for it. He refused to be convinced that his 
officer was morally responsible; the money might have slipped 
through his fingers, but .ne felt assured it had never stuck to his 
hands ; nay, so positive was he upon the subject, that he re- 
placed the deficit entirely out of his own pocket, not even re- 
quiring Mr. Gosling to contribute a single shilling. 


OK, THE COMING MAN. 


415 


\ 


Folly succeeded folly, in a quick march. The salary grew 
“ fine by degrees and beautifully less,” until at length it fell to 
little more than four hundred a-year ; when Mr. Medlicott, with 
a wife and five children, found it more difficult to provide a plain 
dinner for them, than his clerk did to enter tain a party of twenty 
fast men like himself at Lovegrove’s or Richardson’s. Reuben 
now bethought him of those mines in Brazil, in which he had a 
few thousand pounds invested ; and the secretaryship of the min- 
ing company falling vacant, he applied for it, and obtained it 
easily. This set him up again in the world, for the salary was 
seven hundred a year, and there was a commodious residence at- 
tached, which saved him the rent of a house, and other incidental 
expenses. So completely was he engrossed by this new employ- 
ment, into which he entered with scientific ardour, as well as with 
official enthusiasm, that he now treated the place in Chancery 
more carelessly than ever, and left the management of every- 
thing to Mr. Gosling, who soon evinced his gratitude, no less 
than his ingenuity, in a very striking manner. 

The house where Mr. Medlicott now lived was in Duke 
Street, Westminster. One morning, just as Reuben rose from 
the breakfast table, a gay cab drove up to the door, with a gay 
horse and a gay tiger ; but neither cab, horse, nor tiger was half 
so gay as the young man who jumped out and inquired for Mr. 
Medlicott. Reuben had not seen his right-hand man for several 
months, and received him with the utmost graciousness and cor- 
diality. Mr. Gosling came with a carefully-matured plan for 
securing his chief the enjoyment of his present salary for life, an 
• the same time relieving him from even tlie shadow of d 1 
1 responsibility. The scheme was this. Mr. Medlicott wr 
.gn, and Mr. Gosling, having interest to obtain the appo. 
ment, was to succeed him, entering at the same time into a pri- 
vate compact to pay him a yearly sum equal to the existing 
emoluments of the office during his natural life. In fact, this 
ambitious and enterprising young man only wanted rank and po- 
sition ; salary was a secondary consideration with him. He 
doted on business, idolised nothing but his desk ; he was in his 
element, he said, in the midst of that dull official routine, which 
(he could well understand) must be so unspeakably disgusting to 
a man of Mr. Medlicott’s splendid abilities. Strange to say, the 
principal objection Reuben saw to this project was, that Mr. Gos- 
ling proposed to deal too handsomely with him in a pecuniary 
way. If that point could be equitably adjusted, and if his god- 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


41(5 

son really had the interest he spoke of, the arrangement would 
be to himself an extremely agreeable one. 

“ It would in fact, sir, be to you the same as a perfectly well 
secured annuity of between four and five hundred a-year.” 

“I should be only too well off,” said Mr. Medlicott, “as 
things are now ; but the office was worth more than eight hun- 
dred a-year when I was prevailed on to accept it.” 

“ It was always utterly beneath you, sir,” said his flattering 
godson. 

“ Why, so I thought myself at the time,” said Reuben ; “ but 
I was married, and my friends got about me and insisted that a 
certainty of even eight hundred a-year, was better than an in- 
come of a couple of thousands at the end of a vista of hopes and 
imaginings.” 

“ Will you believe me, sir,” said Mr. Gosling, “ I never could 
bear to hear you called a clerk in Chancery.” 

“You say you have interest to obtain the place ?” 

“Beyond all doubt, sir, if there is faith to be placed in human 
promises. My friend, the member for Newmarket, will vote 
against Government if they refuse me ; and another most par- 
ticular friend of mine, member for some place in Connaught, who 
asks for everything and gets everything he asks for, is r&ady to 
go to the Chancellor to-morrow, if I have only the good fortune 
to obtain your consent to the arrangement.” 

“ All I will say to you now,” said Reuben, “ is that there are 
points of view in which I like what you propose ; but there are 
others which, to say the least of them, require very mature con- 
sideration. I will reflect upon the matter, consult friends, and 
in a few days acquaint you with the result.” 

With that result we shall make the reader acquainted at 
once. In the teeth of the strenuous advice and remonstrance of 
every friend he had in the world, capable of advising him on the 
subject, Mr. Medlicott, within a few months of the .opening of 
the negotiation, accepted the terms offered him by Mr. Gosling ; 
and not only gave up his lucrative situation upon no better secu- 
rity than the honour of a scapegrace, but actually obtained the 
appointment for him, through his influence with his old friend 
Lord Appleby. 

It was singular, but from the moment that Mr. Gosling be- 
came the head of that office in Chancery the fees returned ; the 
tide of emoluments began to flow rapidly again. Indeed, Mr. 
Gosling made no secret of it, and for a couple of years he made 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


417 


his quarterly payments to Mr. Medlicott, according to their pri- 
vate agreement, with a punctuality that did him the greatest 
credit. One of these years was passed by Reuben in Brazil, on 
a special mission from the company, to examine and report on 
the state of the mines in their possession. He learned Portu- 
guese expressly for th.e society of Buenos-Ayres, and contrived to 
make a good deal of noise on his return to England, by means 
of his contributions to the principal museums and scientific socie- 
ties of the metropolis. Among other things, he presented the 
menagerie in the Regent’s Park with a splendid collection oi 
macaws and parrots, one of which proved a singularly eloquent 
bird ; and, having been taught, during the voyage, to pronounce 
the name of the donor, helped to extend Mr. Medlicott’s notoriety 
among a very numerous section of the public. 


418 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 



BOOK THE TENTH. 


“ Therefore I perceive a man may be twice a child before the age of dotage, aad 
stand in need of JSson’s bath before threescore .”— Religio Medici. 


ARGUMENT. 


It is not the phenomenon of a few gray hairs, n»r the stolen march of a 
wrinkle, that marks the melancholy turning of the tide of life, but the 
first overshadowing of the mind with despondencies and self-upbraidings, 
the first sense of the difficulty of hoping, and the vanity of intending and 
designing; when to purpose and to dream, once our easiest and most de- 
lightful occupations, have become a Sisyphian labour. Then have we 
begun to gi*ow old, when the first sigh escapes us for the pledges of youth 
unredeemed, or when we look into the kingdom within us, and perceive 
how few of its abuses we have reformed in the palmy days of our power; 
then shuddering think that the time of the fulfilling of promises and the 
correction of faults has passed; that the day is far spent and the night is 
at hand ; — 

“ When thoughts arise of errors past, 

Of prospects foully overcast, 

Of passion’s unresisted rage, 

Of youth that thought not upon age.” 

These are the reflections that extinguish the “ purpureum lumen,” that 
put out the youthful fire ; he that is acquainted with remorse, whether it 
comes of folly or of crime, is already stricken in years, as old as Priam, 
though he may bear himself as gallantly as Paris. But some there are to 
whom these dreary thoughts come late, and who uphold themselves with 
wondrous strength and bravery under the weight of misspent hours. 
Hope is often an Atlas that will bear a world of disappointments on his 
shoulders; and should he ever totter, Vanity is at hand, like another 
Hercules, to relieve him. How many men do we not see in the world 
more confident after a thousand failures, than others after a large measure 
of success? Men, who never know that they are conquered, but imagine 
themselves still mounting, and crow and clap their wings, as if the firma- 
ment was still their own, when with their heavy or broken pinions the 
height of the barley-mow is almost beyond their flight. Folly is attended 
by a troop of spurious merits, the apes of Wisdom’s body-guard, a false 


419 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 

fortitude which is nothing but groundless self-assurance, a bastard indus- 
try which is only a fatiguing idleness, a magnanimity from which 
nothing comes that is great. Ardelio grown old, and with one foot in 
the grave, is Ardelio still. 

“Tu secanda marmora 
Locas sub ipsum funus, et sepulcri 
Immemor struis domos.” 

A species of happiness follows, no doubt, in the train of the mimic vir- 
tues, which strutting Folly trails behind her in her conceited progress to 
the last. The man who has disappointed the world 1ms thoroughly de- 
ceived himself, and fancies he is still the admiration and the hope of his 
age, when he has only earned the “ monstrari digito,” to be pointed at as 
one example more of the downcome of overweening confidence, with the 
additional moral of many shining talents lost for the want of a few plain 
ones. 

How benevolent is Hope, however, which, if it betrays a man in his 
early hours, cleaves to him often so faithfully in his latter days — 

\ 

“ Hope ! of all ills that men endure, 

The only cheap and universal cure! 

Thou captive’s freedom, and thou sick man’s health, 

Thou loser's victory, and thou beggar's wealth, 

Thou manna which from heaven we eat, 

To every taste a se veral meat ! 

Thou strong retreat ! — thou sure-entailed estate 
Which nought has power to alienate. 

Thou pleasant, honest flatterer, for none 
Flatter unhappy men, but thou alone.” 


CHAPTER I. 

THE LAST EFFORT OF GENIUS. 

The reader may probably recollect Barsac Square, in the environs 
of Hereford — one of the joint building-speculations of Bishop 
Wyndham and Mr. Barsac. Only three houses had ever been 
finished, and these, with other property of the same nature, had 
passed into the hands of Mr. Cox, in the final settlement of his 
pecuniary transactions with the Bishop. In one of these houses 
Mr. Medlicott took up his residence at a nominal rent, shortly 
after his return from Brazil. It was furnished with more expense 
and ostentation, than propriety or comfort; for the Barsacs 
themselves had occupied it for a season, and had fitted it up 
with their usual taste in such matters. Among other things 


420 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 

they had brought down from London that magnificent bed with 
the purple velvet curtains fringed with gold lace, which had been 
bought for their venerable son-in-law, at the time of his advance- 
ment to the mitre. It was placed in the principal bedroom, and 
actually slept in by Mr. Medlicott himself, although too stately a 
couch for the Bishop. 

Old Hannah Hopkins was no more, when Reuben returned 
from South America, and he had previously tried whether the 
cottage which she had long tenanted would suit him ; but whether 
it was that its accommodation was defective, or that he found 
living at Chichester unpleasant, associated as that place was with 
the most signal failure of his life, he was certainly well pleased 
when the handsomer and more spacious dwelling at Hereford 
was placed at his disposal. There was probably a good deal of 
morbid pride in this preference of the three-storied house in 
Barsac Square, to a simple cottage in a quiet green lane. Time 
was when Mr. Medlicott’s affectation would have led him to make 
the very opposite choice. Then, he fancied himself important 
enough to exalt and dignify the humblest abode. Now, he had 
probably some secret misgivings on that point, and felt no longer 
conscious of the power to elevate a cottage into a great house 
by conferring upon it the honour of his residence. 

How he carried on the war of life at this period — that is to 
say, how the sinews of war were provided — was a mystery to 
everybody ; for his connection with the mining company ceased 
in consequence of his report, which offended a majority of the 
directors ; and his receipts from Mr. Gosling had dwindled to 
zero — a quantity on which only mathematicians can operate with 
success. Yet he continued, one way or another, to hold up his 
head in the world, and there was nothing of seediness about him, 
no symptom as yet of bleakness; on the contrary, there was 
much more of the air and appearance of the prosperous than 
the decayed gentleman. As to external appearances, indeed, he 
seemed more careful about them now than ever, His family 
made as great a show in the cathedral on Sundays, as the Barsacs 
were wont to do when he was a boy ; and though he adhered 
himself to the vegetarian diet (upon which he seemed to thrive 
uncommonly well), his mode of living was costly enough in other 
ways ; his house was always open to his fanatical admirers from 
London, who made no scruple of Pigwidgeoning him as he had 
Pigwidgeoned them on many a former occasion ; and he manifestly 
spared no expense, either in the education of his children, or on 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


421 


their dress and amusements, all of which were upon a scale 
which required a good fortune to support it. It was his taste, 
evidently, that predominated in all these matters. Everybody, 
who knew his wife knew very well that it was not for her gratifi- 
cation little Chichester and his sisters were fantastically habited 
in scarlet tunics, with caps and feathers, and trotted about Here- 
ford and its suburbs on minute cream-coloured ponies, attended 
by a black groom (the same Pompey who had lived with him 
in Picadilly), as if they were the children of a millionnaire, or 
the progeny of Ducrow or Astley. It was very well known that 
these were altogether Mr. Medlicott’s whims and follies, and there 
was many a speculation upon the source that supplied such 
extravagance, as w ell as upon the issue and results of it. 

The Finchley school still existed ; nay, was more flourishing 
than in former times, although Mr. Brough was now stricken in 
years, and beginning to be talked about as too old for the manage- 
ment of a large seminary. Mr. Medlicott was very kind to his 
ancient master, possibly a little too patronising — an air which 
had much grown upon him of late, and offended many of his 
acquaintances, while it merely curled the lips of others with a 
contemptuous smile. The older Mr. Brough grew, he was natu- 
rally only the more wedded to the system of instruction over 
which he had presided the greater part of his life ; and as Mr. 
Medlicott had his mind full of a hundred new-fangled ideas on 
the same subject, some of which he had brought home with him 
from his visit to the United States, while others he was probably 
the author or inventor of himself, — there was ample subject for 
controversy between old pupil and old master, and many a 
discussion they had upon such matters, sometimes calm and 
sometimes stormy enough. Harvey, the Quaker, happening one 
day to be present at a conversation of this kind, Reuben held 
forth with more than his usual ardour, upon what he considered 
the true code of educational principles, lamented that they had 
never been tried upon a sufficiently large scale, spoke of the 
experiment as the noblest that. could engage the mind of the 
philosopher or the philanthropist, and prophesied splendid moral 
revolutions and glorious intellectual millenniums, to date from the 
happy day of the realisation of his view's. Harvey listened, as 
usual, with his eyes and mouth, no less than his ears, drinking 
in all these fine phrases and admirable speculations, as if he was 
sitting at the feet of a Plato or an Aristotle. Poor Mr. Brough 
was overwhelmed with the fluency of his opponent, and could 


422 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


only reply by shaking his hoary head sceptically, and entering 
a general protest against what he called quackeries, meaning 
thereby every departure from the method of his own institution. 

This little conversation — if conversation it can fairly be called, 
in which hardly anybody talked but Mr. Medlicott — led to the 
last public undertaking of any consequence in which that gentle- 
man took an active and- leading part. Shortly after Harvey 
returned to London, he addressed a rigmarole letter to Reuben 
upon the general subject of middle-class education, conjuring 
him to take it up with energy, assuring him that no other man 
living was equal to so mighty a task, and ending with a proposal 
for some sort of a joint-stock educational company, with a gover- 
nor, a board of directors, and a capital of fifty thousand pounds. 
The answer which Mr. Medlicott returned was an elaborate 
specimen of his imposing quasi-philosophical, chiaro-oscuro style; 
and both epistles were immediately published by Harvey, not 
only in the newspapers, but in the form of a' penny tract, as 
easily disseminated as a pinch of thistle-down, to which, indeed, 
in point of weight and practical usefulness, it bore no faint 
resemblance. It told, however, with the desired effect upon a 
sufficiently large portion of the public to answer Harvey’s pur- 
poses completely. Letters of cordial approval came rapidly 
pouring in from enthusiasts, fanatics, zealots, dupes, and block- 
heads, of both sexes and all persuasions ; and these were soon 
followed by the tender of such liberal subscriptions to raise the 
necessary funds, that in a few weeks there was a sufficient sum 
in the bank to make an immediate commencement of the enter- 
prise feasible. 

However, the commencement was deferred, in order to afford 
Mr. Medlicott time to agitate upon the subject in England, Ire- 
land, and Scotland, a mission upon which he was sent by the 
unanimous vote of a public meeting, and which he undertook 
with all the fervour and excitement of his early days. Now was 
he in his congenial element once more, wielding his old hammer 
daily, surrounded by a swarm of wild admirers and blind wor- 
shippers ; a prophet, or a mountebank, according as he fell in 
with a mob of hot-headed enthusiasts or a few discreet people, 
in the course of his rambles. 

It was probably a most convenient arrangement, just at this 
crisis, for Mr. Medlicott to turn schoolmaster, although, of course, 
it was not a thing to be done without a flourish of trumpets, and 
a great deal of previous parade, to throw the air of a grand 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


423 


enterprise over the acceptance of such an employment. Soon 
after his return from his speechifying tour, he was again com- 
missioned to select a proper site for the projected establishment. 
It had been decided to purchase some large mansion, with a park 
©r extensive grounds surrounding it : and after visiting and in- 
specting a great many country-seats which were then in the 
market, he was making up his mind where to pitch his choice, 
when his grandfather, being anxious to dispose of Westbury, 
offered it to the company for so moderate a sum, that Reuben 
recommended them to purchase it : and accordingly at Westbury 
the Grand Joint-stock Liberal and Enlightened Education Com- 
pany was established, and in a very short time in actual opera- 
tion, under Mr. Medlicott as Preceptor-General, for such was the 
imposing title he assumed. 

The Bishop had no notion of encouraging the scheme, when 
he offered his house to the projectors ; indeed he had tried in 
vain to comprehend the principles set forth in the prospectus, 
and after reading some of Mr. Medlicott’s speeches declared that 
they only rendered the obscurity still more obscure. But Friend 
Harvey and some of his broad-brimmed brethren were so hot 
upon the subject, and proportion ably unscrupulous, that they 
gave out in all quarters that their institution had the sanction 
and patronage of the learned Bishop of Shrewsbury ; whereupon 
the latter (as pugnacious at fourscore and ten as at forty) pub- 
lished a letter of contradiction, in which he unfortunately com- 
mitted himself by speaking most contemptuously of the project, 
at the same time affirming that he knew no more about it than 
the babe unborn. This led to a stiff reply in Harvey’s name, 
but written by Mr. Medlicott ; and to this reply the Bishop re- 
joined, all which was as favourable to the projectors as possible, for 
it excited public curiosity, and gave that notoriety to their estab- 
lishment which to quacks of all descriptions is an object of so 
much importance. Another circumstance also, which took place 
at the same time, tended to the same result. Mr. Medlicott, on 
leaving Barsac Square, sold his stud of little cream-coloured 
ponies to Mr. Leadenhall, who had married one of Mrs. Wynd- 
ham’s sisters. A warranty was given in the usual way with the 
ponies, upon which a dispute arose, and there was an action and 
a trial about it, which involved a great many curious and amus- 
ing circumstances, and caused Mr. Medlicott to be a great deal 
talked about, which was desirable at the moment, and, indeed, 
was never at any time very disagreeable to him. 


424 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


The Westbury Collegiate institution for the education of 
youth Tipon the most enlarged principles of mental and moral 
philosophy — such was the announcement of its pretensions — 
opened with one hundred boys ; but after all the fuss made 
about the novelty of its system and regulations, there was nothing 
in them for the first year that was either very attractive to the 
lovers of novelty, or very formidable to those who were partial 
to old methods. Lectures in a great measure superseded tasks. 
Botany, geology, and natural history were combined with ex- 
ercise, and communicated peripatetically. Modern languages 
were taught in a manner little more oppressive to the students ; 
and remonstrances, either private or public, were introduced in 
place of the punishments commonly resorted to in schools. 

But the mind of the Preceptor-General was not long content 
with deviations so modest as these from the ordinary system of 
education. After long brooding upon the subject, not without 
too much reference to what he considered due to his own reputa- 
tion for originality, he convened a meeting of the committee of 
directors, and propounded a scheme for what he called a new 
organisation of the establishment. 

It was quite as radical a scheme for a school as Henry Hunt 
and other political visionaries were broaching at the same time 
for the nation. Several pupils were withdrawn on the first inti- 
mation that such a plan even existed on paper. Some of the 
directors thought Mr. Medlicott stark mad ; but the faith of the 
majority in him was not so easily shaken. A man of his stamp 
must be allowed to have original ideas ; and it was only fair to 
give whatever he might propose the fullest and maturest con- 
sideration. Repeated meetings were held in the board-room at 
Westbury, and at the end of the discussions the directors divided 
on the question of adopting or rejecting the innovations. They 
were carried by a majority of six to three, and two of the mino- 
rity immediately threw up the undertaking. 

Reuben carried another favourite point of his on the same 
occasion, the appointment of his old friend Doctor Page to the 
situation of physician to the institution, with a salary, apartments, 
and coals and candles. A more injudicious appointment could 
hardly have been made, for Page was now a prosy old man, and 
had latterly forfeited his reputation for good Sense and medical 
skill by running wild after homoeopathy, and professing to cure 
all human distempers, no matter how inveterate or malignant, 
with pills of too minute a size to be seen without the help of a 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


42 . 


powerful microscope. To this egregious system he was not long 
in making Mr. Medlicott a convert, and Mr. Medlicott in return 
made Doctor Page, a proselyte to his vegetarian and aquarian 
practices. The two luminaries, thus happily reunited after a 
separation of many years, used to sit over their crofts of an eve- 
ning, glorying in their common absurdities, and praying for the 
time to come when all the world would be as absurd as them- 
selves. 


CHAPTER II. 

FOLLY INTERRUPTED BY SORROW. 

The Westbury Institution, on the new model, was a free school 
in the strictest sense of the word. It was expressly established 
on the principle of unlimited confidence in the honour of the 
scholars, or alumni , as they were designated. The compulsions 
were altogether of a moral nature. Task-work was almost en- 
tirely superseded by lectures, which were to be either aulic, or 
peripatetic (signifying in plain English, in-doors, or out-of-doors), 
according to the season and the nature of the subject. The 
classes, or chambers, as they were called, were formed upon psycho- 
phrenological principles, which, as the phrase vastly delighted 
old Mrs. Medlicott, we must charitably hope that she understood 
what it meant. The Preceptor-General was, of course, the prin- 
cipal lecturer himself. It was his prerogative to lecture at all 
hours and upon all topics ; but the subjects he reserved especially 
for himself were Rhetoric,' the Conduct of the Understanding,' 
and the Spirit of the British Constitution. The latter was one 
of ithe peripatetic courses; for, as our Anglo-Saxon liberties 
originated in the forests, Mr. Medlicott was of opinion that there 
was a peculiar propriety and advantage in explaining the nature 
of them walking in the woods, surrounded by the sylvan in- 
fluences. But he also proposed to instill the spirit of our re- 
presentative institutions in a practical manner, and for this pur- 
pose he ordained that all the games and festivals of the school 
should be settled by a council elected annually by universal 
suffrage and the ballot. The meals were to be on a model some- 
thing between an Attic symposium and the convivial usages of 
the Utopians. The bill of-fare for each week was to be fixed by 


426 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 


an elective committee, within certain limits of variety ana ex- 
pense. Grace was to be said by the students in rotation, but 
never any two days in the week in the same language; and there 
were to be Italian, French, and German tables, where such students 
as desired to improve themselves in those languages, by using 
them exclusively, might sit, if they pleased. A corps of readers 
and declaimers was appointed monthly, who were to have their 
meals earlier than the rest, in order to be at leisure to recite 
pieces of poetry, or declaim passages from the ancient or modern 
orators, to entertain their fellow-students at dinner. It was also 
to be the duty of these declaimers, when any charge was brought 
against a cook, to send for the delinquent, and remonstrate with 
her in full symposium ; a pleasant institution, attended with the 
advantage of accustoming the boys to speak at a moment’s notice 
upon questions, not of imaginary, but real interest. On certain 
days of peculiar festivity, the alumni were to be encouraged to 
tririe elegantly and classically with anagrams, riddles, impromptu 
verses, and Spartan repartees. There were even prizes for dis- 
tinguished merit in these exercises, the highest being for the best 
extempore iambics on a cook found guilty of over-seasoning, ex- 
cessive boiling, or any similar misdemeanour. Dorothy, who was 
always in scrapes, was twice roasted for over-roasting, and Jenny 
herself was more than once in a stew. 

Proficiency in general was tested by quarterly “ investiga- 
tions of progress,” held at the equinoxes and solstices — words 
which pleased a multitude of fathers and mothers infinitely more 
than the vulgar names of the seasons. To the solstitial investi- 
gations,- all the learned men in the kingdom were to be invited, 
and formed into a court or jury, which (after hearing a charge 
from the Preceptor-General) was to proceed to the performance 
of its duties. The occasions for haranguing created by the fun- 
damental rules were amusingly frequent. The system of re- 
monstrance was eminently favourable to the gratification of the 
Preceptor-General’s ruling passion. After two private remon- 
strances, the student was liable to a public one ; and after a 
second infliction of that kind, the offender was to be proclaimed 
to be “ at large,” which was the courteous phrase for a boy’s ex- 
pulsion. One of the oddest of all the regulations, but growing 
naturally out of the principle of confidence, was the following : 
any student might absent himself from lectures upon a certifi- 
cate signed by two other students of the same chamber to the 
elfect that he was indisposed, or pre-occupied by distressing or 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


427 


interesting news from home. But as this usage was obviously 
open to abuse, it was guarded by the delivery, once a quarter, 
of a grave address to- the students, in full assembly, upon the 
beauty of truth and upon moral obligations in general, which 
furnished the eloquent head of the establishment with one peri- 
odical opportunity more for addressing his ever-attentive and 
submissive audience. 

Mr. Medlicott, in fact, realised in this institution what may 
be said to have been the great idea of his life, namely, that 
everything in this world is to be done best by talking. 

Few sane people, it will easily be believed, sent their sons to 
Westbury, when the system we have described was published 
abroad. But there were fools enough to admire, applaud, and pa- 
tronise it with all its absurdities, and it actually stood its ground 
against a prodigious amount of ridicule for nearly three years, 
during which some changes, no doubt, were made in the details of 
the management, but with very little tendency to more rational 
r egulations. There was something to fascinate various fanatical 
ictions of the public. Mr. Medlicott personally adhered to the 
tegetarian system, and presided himself at a table expressly set 
apart for those scholars whose parents wished to bring up their 
children in blissful ignorance of beef and mutton. The Peace 
Societies were gratified by a fundamental ordinance against 
fighting of every kind, and the use of gunpowder, for any pur- 
pose whatever, even to fire a sixpenny brass cannon. A boy 
was solemnly remonstrated with, soon after the establishment 
opened, fo* letting off - a squib ; and the Preceptor-General 
availed himself of that opportunity for explaining the proper 
method of receiving an invading army, should the shores of 
England ever be outraged. This method consisted simply in 
resolutely ignoring the military character of the transaction, per- 
sisting in looking at it in the light of a friendly visit paid by 
some fifty thousand men of a particular nation, in a particular 
cqstume, to the people of another nation, and considering only 
how to make such an unexpected number of guests as comfort- 
able as possible during their stay. 

“ For my own part, gentlemen,” said the Preceptor-General, 
at the close of his remonstrance, “should a French army ever 
come to Westbury, I promise them as warm a reception as my 
kitchen can afford. I shall open my whole batterie-de-cuisine 
upon them. They shall not have to say that they had no Eng- 
lish host to encounter, for they shall find a host in me at all 


428 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS,* 


events. As many as are vegetarians we will regale with the 
produce of our garden ; those who hanker after the flesh-pots 
shall have the best mutton from yonder downs ; we will meet 
them with our spits and pot-hooks ; and if they come in Sep- 
tember, when the woods are pleasant to stroll in, why we will 
invite them to come with us and hear a lecture on the laws and 
institutions of England.” 

Had everything gone on smoothly in this extraordinary col- * 
lege, Mr. Medlicott would probably have got tired of his posi- 
tion sooner than he did ; but although there never assembled 
round a table a weaker-headed set of men than the board of di- 
rectors consisted of, their imbecilities were sufficiently diversified 
to create innumerable disputes among them, which kept the 
Preceptor-General, who was a member ex officio , effectually from 
falling asleep. They quarrelled about religion among other 
things, the. first bone of contention being the erection of a sort 
of pulpit for the public remonstrances, which gave them some 
resemblance to sermons, particularly as Mr. Medlicott had fallen 
much of late into a drawling mode of delivery that savoured 
more of the clerical profession than any other. Some members 
of the board were in favour of his actually taking orders, and 
pressed that step upon him. Others, including the Quakers, de- 
clared they would retire from the institution if he did. Com- 
promises took place upon these several points. The pulpit gave 
place to an elevated platform, or dais ; and instead of becoming 
a doctor of divinity, Mr. Medlicott repaired to his university and 
got himself dubbed a doctor of laws. He was thenceforward 
styled in his prospectuses Reuben Medlicott, Esq., LL.D., late 
member of Parliament for the city of Chichester, with several el 
ceteras appended ; and as it was very soon discovered by his 
friends and his pupils that it tickled his ear to be addressed by 
the name of Doctor, he got doctoring enough from everybody 
about him, particularly from the alumni. 

He had been about two years at the head of this odd insti- 
tution, when he was summoned to his native city upon a no less 
melancholy occasion than to pay the last honours to his father, 
who died after a short and rather sudden illness, in the fulness 
of years, leaving behind him many friends who sincerely re- 
spected and loved him, and the well-earned reputation of one of 
the most honest and single-minded men in the Church. The 
Vicar had been an affectionate and faithful shepherd for nearly 
half a century to his little flock at Underwood ; and had par- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


429 


ticularly endeared himself to them by his refusal to accept the 
Crown living, and by also subsequently declining to change his 
vicarage for one or two better things which he might ^iave had 
in the diocese of Shrewsbury. He always said he was too old 
to move, and sometimes appealed to Sirach, who seemed to ex- 
press by his croak his unwillingness to see a new incumbent. 

When Reuben reached Underwood, he found his mother in 
a very nervous state, and gladly accepted the kind offer of a far- 
mer in the neighbourhood to receive her into his house, until 
she was strong enough to bear removal to Westbury. She left 
Underwood for this temporary residence on the evening of her 
son’s arrival there. 

A numerous train of friends attended the excellent Vicar’s fu- 
neral, but some of our own old acquaintances were not among the 
number. Mr. Oldport, the jovial canon, was no more ; and Mr. 
Cox, although still living, was bowed down by the multitude of 
years and disorders, and devoutly waiting for that last and only 
universal remedy, which “to prepared appetites” (as Sir Thomas 
Browne beautifully expresses it) “ is nectar, and a pleasant po- 
tion of immortality.” The last time Reuben ever saw Mr. Pig- 
widgeon, the apothecary, was at the dismal breakfast upon this 
occasion. He had passed his seventieth year, was bent almost 
double, and had only two thin white locks of hair left, one over 
each temple: but his appetite was anything but decrepit, and 
not until he had satisfied its cravings, on pretence of keeping 
out the cold air, did he indulge his sorrow for his departed 
friend. To do the apothecary justice, he spoke with warmth 
and sincerity, when he did speak ; not omitting the praise of the 
Vicar’s hospitality, among his numerous other virtues, but 
frankly confessing how much of it he had enjoyed himself, and 
how unlikely it was he should ever see such a hospitable vicar of 
Underwood again. Mr. Medlicott was attentive and good-na- 
tured to the old man, who no longer cherished any hostile sen- 
timents towards Mr. Medlicott ; in fact, the comparative success 
of his own son in the world had completely extinguished the 
paltry little sorenesses, chiefly arising from wounded paternal 
pride, which had all along been at the bottom of his grudge to 
Reuben. 

The Vicar fell with the leaf. It was a chill damp day, to- 
wards the close of October, when his remains were committed 
to the earth, within a dozen yards of the spot whose tillage had 
been his innocent amusement for forty years. 


430 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


“ The last words I ever heard him speak,” said the old sex 
ton, talking with Reuben in that melancholy deserted garden, 
when the ceremony was over, — “he was standing just where 
you are standing at this moment, — were these-: ‘Thomas,’ he 
said, ‘ you and I cultivate the same ground, but you are the su- 
perior gardener ; for what you sow will be immortal, and will 
blossom hereafter in heaven.’ His reverence had a cough upon 
him at the time ; you see he never finished planting out those 
young cabbages.” 

Reuben looked, and saw a bed recently dug, but only par- 
tially planted. A little bundle of the plants that remained unset 
was lying on the walk almost at his feet, and against the trunk 
of the pear-tree, mentioned before in this history, a spade was 
leaning ; telling the story most distinctly of the abrupt sum- 
mons which his father had received. 

Men of sterner nature than Mr. Medlicott’s would have been 
moved by this ; he was powerfully affected, and turned away to 
indulge his grief in solitude. How neglected, how bleak, hew 
utterly forlorn was all that once exquisitely cultivated rood of 
earth, associated in Reubea’s mind with so many happy days of 
his childhood, with so many eventful periods of his maturer years, 
with the chief objects of his love and honour, with his early 
studies, and the recollection of all he had imagined that never 
was realised, and all he had hoped that never was fulfilled ? 
Everything to both his eye and his heart was inexpressibly sad. 
A cold mist hung in the perfectly still air ; the yellow leaves were 
dropping listlessly to the ground ; those of the old walnut-tree 
covered the rustic table that stood beneath it. The last time 
Reuben had ever sat with his father at that table was the day of 
his return for Chichester, and the birth of his son. There were 
birds, but they were silent ; the walks wont to be so trim were 
grass-grown in many places ; here and there they were strewn 
with fallen apples, over which the slugs crawled ; the last crop 
of peas had come to maturity in vain, the pods were swollen and 
growing brown, — the straw should have been removed a week 
before. 

Returning to the place where he had talked with the sexton, 
Reuben found him engaged in setting the remainder of the plants, 
which, though they had lain there a fortnight, had the principle 
of vegetation still in them. It was an instinct of affection and 
duty in the old man that impelled him to undertake this little 
office ; he felt himself a sort of executor in a matter of this kind 
of the last unaccomplished purpose of his deceased master. 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


431 


Siracli was perched in the fork of the pear-tree, and seemed 
to be intently watching what the sexton was doing, as if it was 
incumbent on him, also, to see the intentions of the late Vicar 
carried out. Upon Reuben’s approach he spread his wings, and 
with a low shuffling flight close to the ground penetrated the 
line of yews, and presently was heard mournfully croaking in the 
churchyard. 

Reuben moved slowly to the door in the hedge. The sexton 
followed and opened it for him. He loved the old man for loving 
his father, thanked him cordially, and, bidding him an affectionate 
adieu, went to mingle his tears with his mother’s at the neigh- 
bouring farm-house. His mother was never destined to see 
Underwood more ; but it was Reuben’s lot to visit it again after 
many years. 


CHAPTER III. 

PEOGEESS OF MENTAL INFIEMITY. 

The death of the worthy Vicai was fraught with results verj 
little to have been expected from it. Our Protean hero was now 
upon the verge of that curious religious metamorphosis to which 
he had been tending for many years, and to which his grand- 
father had always predicted he would come at last. 

He had, indeed, exhibited through his motley life (though 
not in so prominent a manner as to arrest the attention of the 
public) no less infirmity of purpose in spiritual than in seculai 
concerns. We saw him when a mere stripling almost turning 
his back upon the Church of England, because his grandfathei 
had obtained a bishopric in a manner of which he disapproved, 
and he never entered again into very cordial relations with her. 
This estrangement was, of course, increased by his subsequent 
close connections with the Society of Friends, above all by his 
marriage with a member of that persuasion. However, his wife’s 
religious zeal w r as far enough below 7 that degree of heat which 
impels people to make proselytes ; had it reached that boiling- 
point, she would never have left the Meeting to follow Reuben 
through the world ; neither, in all probability, did the Harveys 
and Wilsons lay themselves out deliberately to convert him, for 
if they had done so, it is unlikely they would have failed in 


432 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS J 


that more than in their other practices upon his weakness. 
He was certainly not entangled doctrinally with the Quakers 
when he first went to America, for we have seen that ha was'so 
much taken with. the creed of the Mormonites as to have actually 
felt some disposition to attach himself to their wild community ; 
and from the time of his return to England to the present period, 
it would not have been easy to determine to what denomination 
of Christians he belonged, for though he never sat “ in the seat 
of the scorners,” he frequented no particular place of worship, 
but roved hither and thither, not so much blown about by the 
winds of divers doctrines, as led to and fro by the fame of 
preachers noted for their eloquence, whenever such preachers 
were to be heard. 

Perhaps, however, he would never have openly revolted from 
the Church of England if certain incidents that occurred after his 
father’s death, and in consequence of that event, had not involved 
him in warm disputes about ecclesiastical matters. There were 
charges for dilapidations against the Vicar’s representatives, 
which Reuben considered unjust and even monstrous ; but wheth- 
er they were unjust or not, he had no alternative but to submit 
to them, or risk the expenses and hazards of litigation in the 
spiritual courts. His old friend, Mr. Fox, the Proctor, strongly 
recommended resistance, and by his advice Doctor Medlicott did 
resist, and had eventually to pay upwards of three hundred 
pounds above the demand for dilapidations, which did not 
amount to a hundred and fifty. This made him sore enough; 
but another quarrel, in which he was involved at the same time 
by his mother, put him in still worse temper with the Church 
and its officers. 

Like many other ladies, Mrs. Medlicott had been somewhat 
blind to the virtues of her spouse during his life-time ; and as to 
talents she never allowed that he possessed any at all ; but no 
sooner was he taken from her, than her heart grew soft, her eyes 
were opened, and she discovered that she had been wedded for 
nearly forty years to a man of the rarest merits of every kind. 
In short, she thought it incumbent on her to indite an epitaph 
on her deceased husband, and in the act of composing it, excel- 
lencies of all kinds sprung up under her pen, with a profusion 
that was perfectly astonishing. Reuben extolled her production 
with becoming filial enthusiasm, and offered a prize to his schol- 
ars for the best Latin and Greek translations of it. Two tolera- 
ble versions were produced ; but what was the use of inscrip- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


433 


tions ? On what were they to be inscribed ? Epitaphs in general 
are made for monuments, but in the present instance the monu- 
ment had to be made for the epitaph. Mrs. Medlicott, encour- 
aged by her son, and assisted by the subscriptions of her sister, 
and many other friends of her late husband, employed an emi- 
nent sculptor to express her high-flown ideas in marble; and 
when the work was ^executed, she wrote in a most ostentatious 
strain to the authorities of the cathedral of Chichester, proposing 
to do them the honour of having it erected there. She received 
an answer in a very different style, the most business-like con- 
ceivable, inclosing a scale of the fees payable upon the several 
descriptions of monuments, and naming the specific charge for 
that which she proposed to erect. 

“ All England shall hear of this,” vowed Doctor Medlicott, 
who had received upon the same day disagreeable tidings of the 
dilapidation suit ; and all England did hear of it, for he threw 
aside all other business for the time, and not only attacked the 
Dean and Chapter of Chichester, but all the deans and chapters 
in the kingdom, denouncing them in newspapers, belabouring 
them in pamphlets, and presenting petitions of interminable 
length against them to both houses of Parliament ; hashing up 
his other grievances with that of the monument, and not even 
sparing the doctrines and liturgies of the Church in the unreason- 
ing violence of his resentments. ^ Among his other extravagan- 
cies, he had the extreme folly to prefix to one of his libel* on the 
deans and chapters an engraving of the proposed mausoleum to 
his father, with the elegy composed by his mother, and its trans- 
lations into the learned languages by his own wonderful scholars. 
It was in the same pamphlet that he entered his grand protest 
against the Established Church, and gave the first intimation of 
his resolution to take signal vengeance upon her for her manifold 
iniquities, by formally withdrawing himself and his family from 
her pale. 

If the Church of England had at this period been as angry 
with Doctor Medlicott as he was with the Church, and, above all, 
if she had gone the length of excommunicating him with bell, 
book, and candle for his undutiful behaviour towards her, she 
would have just taken the very course that would have delighted 
him most, for his passion for notoriety was now an incurable dis- 
ease. Put that venerable establishment was not so accommo- 
dating to his foibles. The Vicar’s successor in the parish of Un- 
derwood quiet}' received the sum for dilapidations which the law 


434 


The universal genius ; 

decreed in his favour ; the Proctor and his brother officers pock- 
eted their fees and costs with the same coolness : the Dean of 
Chichester adhered to the usages of the cathedral relative to mon- 
uments; and, unless laughter is a passion, nobody (out of the 
circle of his own fanatical followers) was seriously disturbed by 
all that Doctor Medlicott wrote and stormed about the church 
and his parents, his intolerable grievances and his terrible resolu- 
tions. 

The resolution he took was formally to join the Quakers, and 
he only suspended the execution of this great design for an op- 
portunity of making the change in the most public and conspicu- 
ous manner at the next annual meeting of the Society in the 
month of May. His friend Primrose, ^now the venerable arch- 
deacon of Shrewsbury, wrote him the kindest letter of remon- 
strance, in the hopes of restraining him from the commission of 
this incredible extravagance ; but his interposition was unavail- 
ing, and only brought upon the archdeacons the same description 
of ill-usage which the deans had already experienced. 

Before the merry month of May oame, Doctor Medlicott had 
ceased to be the head of the Westbury institution, and that nota- 
ble institution itself had ceased to exist. It was not its absurdi- 
ties that destroyed it, for it was established to carry out the 
views of the most absurd people upon earth, and its folly was 
really the only element of success it contained. The circum- 
stances are only worth relating because they arose from that 
amiable trait in Mr. Medlicott’s character which we have already 
noticed more than once, the strength of his private attachments 
and his vivid recollection of old associations and old times. We 
have related how comfortably Doctor Page was settled at West- 
bury, with a salary, apartments, and other advantages, as Resi- 
dent physician and professor of homoeopathy to the institution. 
Whether this was a job, or not, it certainly looked very like one. 
When old Mrs. Medlicott, after the Vicar’s decease, came to live 
with her son, it was so natural an arrangement that no difficulty 
was made about it in the first instance ; at the same time it was 
another encroachment, and the subject no doubt of unpleasant 
remarks in private. The old lady ought to have kept herself as 
quiet as possible under the circumstances; but she was not that 
sort of woman ; she soon made herself obnoxious to her son’s 
assistants by tampering with the heads of the boys,' and objecting 
to regulations which were not sufficiently preposterous to please 
her. But this was not the w^rst : she persuaded Reuben that 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


435 


be wanted a register, and actua.ly sent to Chichester for one of 
his remaining godsons to fill that office. There was a great bat- 
tle about this at the Board, but Friend Harvey bore down all 
resistance, and by a narrow majority a small salary was voted to 
the godson. This transaction wore unquestionably an ugly as- 
pect ; yet if the system had stopped here there would probably 
have been no serious outcry; but just at the same moment it 
happened that a professor of French was wanting. A professor 
was advertised for; he must be a gentleman, he must be a Pari- 
sian, and the advertisement was not long unanswered. 

Doctor Medlicott was sitting with his wife and mother, his 
register and physician, at breakfast, when Dorothy, now a cor- 
pulent dame of forty, but still dressed in all the colours of the 
rainbow, entered with a card in her hand for the Preceptor- 
General. The card bore the address of “ M. Adolphe Beauvoisin, 
Chevalier de la Legion d’Honneur, Professeur des Langues Mo 
dernes, <fcc., &c.” 

“ This is wonderful !” cried the head of the college, rising : 
“ I had almost forgotten my old friend’s existence. What a 
Proteus he is ! what a strange chameleon ! Dorothea, show in 
the Chevalier.” 

Adolphe was now a meagre, sharp-visaged old fellow : he 
entered the room with twenty bows and grimaces, his seedy 
black coat buttoned up to his chin, and another old parapluie 
under his arm ; it was manifest he had not thriven on his versa- 
tility, as well as other people. The Chevalier, as he styled him- 
self looked very like a man who was at his last shift, or on his 
last legs ; much in the state of the unfortunate fox in the fable, 
hunted down in spite of all his tricks, while his companion the 
cat, who had but the one gift of climbing a tree, escaped scot- 
free by its timely exercise. Of course he had a theory, cut and 
dry, as usual, to account for the new character in which he now 
made his appearance. He had discovered his true talent at last; 
nor did he seem in the least conscious what a melancholy thing 
it is to make that important discovery at sixty. On the contrary, 
he extolled his own sagacity highly ; and old Mrs. Medlicott, on 
being appealed to by her son, scrutinised his organ of language, 
and pronounced it admirably developed , at the same time ascer- 
taining the distressing fact that the accomplished Chevalier had 
no shirt. 

Reuben first give the impudent pretender his breakfast; then 
he supplied the defects of his wardrobe; and thirdly, he pro 


436 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


/noted him to the vacant professorship, introducing him to the 
students that very day at dinner, with an elaborate eulogy on 
his talents, and a touching allusion to the circumstances of their 
original acquaintance. Before the subject of these encomiums 
was a week in his situation, his kind and generous patron had 
to remonstrate with him seriously for teaching the alumni 
to smoke ; and before the expiration of a month, it was ascer- 
tained that he also gave private lessons to the senior students in 
that practical branch of the science of probabilities commonly 
called gaming. This was too grave a matter to be passed over 
even with the dismissal of the offender. Mr. Medlicott was for- 
mally called to account for making the appointment, and the 
opportunity was seized upon for accusing him of having cor 
ruptly turned the institution into a comfortable asylum and snug- 
gery for himself, his family, his relations, and friends. He made 
a long speech in his own defence, and Friend Harvey stuck to 
him to the hist; but a resolution of censure was passed, and 
Doctor Medlicott threw up his place in disgust, and removed his 
family immediately to London. 


CHAPTER TV 

THE LAST FOLLY AND TIIE LAST SPEECH 

It was the first of May (or Fifth Month, as the Quaker almanack 
terms it), not very long after the break-up at Westbury ; and a 
large majority of the disciples of Fox and Penn resident within 
the sound of Bow bell, with many of the same fraternity from 
far beyond the reach of that celebrated tongue of Time, were 
gathered together in Finsbury, in an unusually crowded yearly 
meeting. Upon one side were arrayed the solemn males of the 
community, upon the other sat the formal females ; the separa- 
tion between them reminding one of the original creation of the 
various species of living things after their sexes and kinds; 
while the unjoyous colouring that reigned (if colouring it could 
be called with propriety) led the spectator to congratulate him- 
self that the same harsh taste in tints did not prevail at the era 
of the Creation ; for then had the face of nature wanted its love- 
liest varieties the rainbow had never spanned the sky, the pea- 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


437 


cock spread his starry train, or “the. firmament glowed with liv 
ing sapphires.” A Quaker Iris would ill have symbolised the 
vivid hues of Hope ; a Flora of the same persuasion would never 
have eclipsed the glories of the court of Solomon. 

It was a favourable moment for studying the Society, had 
you been disposed to publish a little book about them, of the 
kind which the French have lately entitled “ Physiologies.” The 
present meeting was a sort/ of prim parliament, very fairly repre- 
senting all the varieties of Quakerism. There were English 
Quakers, Scotch Quakers, Irish Quakers, and even Yankee Qua- 
kers. There was the Quaker as brown as a Moor ; the Quaker 
as grey as morning; the drab Quaker; the snuffy Quaker; and 
the Quaker as white as snow. There was the dreary sort and 
the sprightly ; the coarse and the cultivated ; the mild and the 
morose. You could see where the bigoted hue was only ex- 
ternal, and where the heart itself was drab. You saw the old 
dry variety, and the modern wet one. There was dismal devo- 
tion and cheerful ; piety obviously unaffected, and piety con- 
spicuously assumed. There was no priest among them, but 
there were probably some pharisees and hypocrites. It is still 
more certain, however, that there was many a meek publican 
and many a good Samaritan in the throng. * 

Observing the fair side of the meeting particularly, you might 
almost have classified the Quakeresses by their silks. The maid- 
ens were generally dove-coloured; the mothers silvery, fieecy, 
or bluish-grey ; the grand-dames olive and dun. The far-poking 
bonnet seldom concealed a pretty face ; nor did the comeliest 
figures seem to be those which availed themselves of the un- 
couthest garbs to hide them. There was not much beauty, per- 
haps ; but what there was stood independently on its personal 
merits, and proved what sparkling eyes will do without other 
brilliants ; bright hair, without flowers or pearls ; a beautiful 
arm, without a bracelet ; and white tapering fingers, without a 
ring. Nor yet had either the dove-coloured damsels, or the ma- 
trons of silver-grey, so utterly neglected their personal decoration 
as to select the harshest materials for their habits, or enjoin upon 
their milliners total inobservance of shapes and forms ; on the 
contrary, if there was no clothing of wrought gold, there was 
much raiment of elaborate needlework ; where the tint was very 
sad, the texture was apt to be very rich ; and you sometimes 
felt inclined to remark of piety, what the poet does of ambition, 
that it “should be made of sterner stuff.” 


438 


THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ] 


It was not, however, upon the female side alone that these 
symptoms of human weakness were to be detected. The more 
you attended to minutiae upon both sides, the more you were 
convinced that, while the founders of the sect had triumphed to 
a wonderful extent over the love of pomp and vanity — even over 
the feminine passion for dress and ornament, — the victory was 
not complete ; nature was not conquered : you saw by the 
hats of many brims, the coats of many cuts, the bonnets of many 
pokes, and the silks of many a shade, — that even the Jacobs 
and Obadiahs had their Mirror of Fashion, and the Rebeccas 
and Ruths their modistes. 

Unless the observer, too, was much deceived, he detected on 
the present occasion a gloss upon the broadcloth, a novelty in 
the silks, and a crispness in the cambrics, which bespoke some- 
thing more than usually exciting, nay almost festive, in the sea- 
son, or the day. Although it was one of those annual gather- 
ings, when they assemble not only from far cities and countries, 
but even from far distant regions of the globe, to exchange looks 
of kindness, and silent breathings of peace and good-will, — It 
was impossible not to conclude, from the crowded state of the 
benches, the abundance of new dresses, and the extraordinary 
intentness of aU eyes — but particularly those of the fair sex, — 
that something was about to happen out of the usual course of 
events in the Quaker world. 

There was evidently a greater throng than usual, for the 
men sat with their arms pinioned to their sides, and their knees 
in contact ; while the matrons and maidens were penned so close 
together, that the countenances of some, who were not so un- 
worldly as the rest, exhibited manifest tokens of chagrin at the 
unavoidable rumpling of their gowns. 

Prominent among the males were Friends Harvey and Wil- 
son, particularly the former. Harvey w r as all brown ; Wilson 
was all drab. The progress of time had made Wilson drier and 
sourer and stiffer than ever. Upon Harvey, years seemed to 
have had the opposite effect — increasing his smoothness and 
briskness. Although stock-still, he seemed to be all in motion ; 
and if you can imagine a talkative silence, it was that w 7 ^ich he 
was keeping with his lips, out of which his tongue was continu- 
ally making little excursions ; while his eyes rolled about with 
the most fidgety anxiety, as if they expected to see an angel 
come down from heaven, or something of that sort. Harvey 
was now a sexagenarian, and sat with the reverend elders of the 


OR, THE COMING MAN. 


43S 


meeting. Behind him were his sons, now men of ripe ige, stiK 
not easy to be known asunder, except by the habit, in which 
one of them kindly persevered, of keeping his mouth wide open, 
to give the flies a hospitable reception. 

The cause of this extraordinary stir in so calm a community 
was not very long a secret. Presently, as if by one accord, or 
by a simultaneous movement of some spirit, peradventure only 
that of curiosity, all eyes were turned to one point, and that point 
was the door of the Meeting-house. It opened and opened again, 
but nothing satisfactory made its appearance, only grim old Isaac 
Hopkins, the rich brewer, or one of the dismal pieces of female 
antiquity which we may recollect having formerly seen at the 
Meeting in Cavendish Square. 

At length, however, came the desire of all eyes. Harvey’s 
seemed to be starting from <their sockets. The mouth of Jonas 
opened to its extreme width. The silks rustled ; the crisp muslins 
fose and fell over the agitatefl bosoms. With a slow, measured, 
solemn, and not unstudied step, in strict but not painfully rigid 
Quakerly attire, carrying his new glossy broad-leaved white hat 
in his hand, and wearing in his button-hole a bouquet of the 
gravest flowers of the season, entered a tall portly man, but with 
faded cheek, and past the meridian of his days, showing an 
evident struggle in every feature between the desire to appear 
meek and subdued, as became a novice, and the conceited con- 
sciousness that he was the admired of all beholders. A more 
severe costume might perhaps have disguised Reuben Medlicott 
for a few moments, but the deviation from his ordinary dress for 
many years was not considerable: and the eternal bouquet, 
emblem of his undying coxcombry, was sufficient of itself to estab- 
lish his identity. His wife and children, however, were there to 
vouch him, and he wanted vouchers. His wife crept beside him, 
as conscious of being disregarded and unwelcomed, as her hus- 
band was of being received with rapture. Mary had left the 
Meeting to follow the lover without a regret, and she now returned 
to it to obey the husband without a particle of enthusiasm. He 
was no proselyte of hers ; no triumph was visible in her deport- 
ment : on the contrary 7 , had not her poking bonnet and white 
veil nearly concealed her countenance, you might have detected 
an affecting change in its once so radiant and joyous features, 
an anxious expression in her eyes, and the traces of much care 
upon her brow — the consequences, undoubtedly, of long and 
painful solicitude for her husbands interests and the fate of his 


440 


THE UNI\ ERSAL GENIUS ) 


children. She was accompanied by three of them, two girls in 
their teens, and Chichester, also coming on rapidly, though, in 
his full-dress suit of drab, he looked by no means so fast a young 
man as when he galloped about Hereford in scarlet uniform, on 
his cream-coloured pony. 

Husband and wife — the new prize and the regained property 
of the Society — separated when they reached the centre of the 
open space that divided the sexes. Friend Reuben was ad- 
mitted, with every demonstration of mute greeting, into a place 
that had been carefully reserved for him between Harvey and 
Wilson ; while, on the opposite side, the matrons of the sect, 
with infinitely less ardour and cordiality, received the poor down- 
cast Mary into their demure ranks. 

Mr. Medlicott did not preach on the first day of his admission 
into the Society of Friends. It would have been a variance with 
their discipline, or he would probably have done so. There were 
some of the fraternity who would willingly have set all rules 
aside upon so great an occasion, but they were overruled by the 
sterner members of the body. The neophyte, however, was en- 
rolled, in an unusually short time, among what are termed 
“ the acknowledged ministers and soon attained a melancholy 
eminence as the most powerful — which meant the longest-winded 
— of them all. Some of his rhapsodies are better recorded than 
even Mrs. Fry’s most attractive addresses, or even than Hannah 
Hopkins’s famous sermon on Daniel in the den of lions, which 
Matthew Cox remembered to have heard. One of Reuben’s 
outpourings is still considered by the survivors of the Harveys 
and the Wilsons as having been, not only the most wonderful 
effort of eloquence that ever broke the silence of the meeting, 
but as having partaken in some measure of the prophetic strain. 
It was a discourse in which, amid a labyrinth of metaphorical 
prolixities, he introduced a highly-wrought description of a figur- 
ative olive-tree, that was to be planted hereafter in the heart of 
the great metropolis, under which all the nations of the earth 
were to be gathered in peace and amity, to celebrate the triumphs 
of knowledge and industry, arts and sciences, concord and civili- 
sation. This is now considered, by the faithful few in whose 
memory he still flourishes, as a distinct and most remarkable 
prediction of the Palace of Crystal, and the great event in the 
nistory of civilisation connected with that magic edifice. Mr 
Jonas Harvey, whose shop and whose mouth are still open, has 
no doubt whatsoever of the inspiration of his father’s friend. 


OR, THE COMING A1AH. 


441 


While Mr. Medlicott continued a Quaker, he was a thorough- 
going one. He did not quake by halves, but went the whole hog 
with the most strait-laced, the mo§t broad-brimmed, and the most 
fanatical of the sect. When they sent their spiritual envoys 
abroad, he was always in the commission. When ministers wore 
appointed to go from house to house, “ dealing” with perverse 
or delinquent brethren, Friend Reuben was seldom omitted from 
the number. These pious peregrinations were unhappily from 
the first only too convenient to him in a pecuniary point of view ; 
but eventually they became almost his only means of subsistence, 
and he passed a great part of every year going to and fro with 
his family, quartering himself freely in the snuggest houses, and 
paying for his substantial entertainment with a profusion of 
vapoury discourse. In fact he was growing bleak ; and it was 
now beginning to be noticed that he no longer held up his head 
with the self-assurance which he had hitherto so well preserved, 
as if he hoped against hope, and held the faith in himself un- 
shaken. There were, however, occasionally — even now — flashes 
of the once wonderful Reuben, who had given his friends such 
promises of success, and pledged himself to the world for such 
great performances. Now and then, in some comfortable house 
where he was received with more than ordinary warmth, and 
still listened to as an oracle, he would pour himself out at dinner, 
or more frequently at the tea-table, with all his characteristic 
exuberance of metaphor, allusion, quotation, and anecdote, with 
no drift and to no end. But then again he would collapse for 
weeks into a state of almost stupidity, as if he had talked him- 
self down and had need of repose and refreshment before he was 
able to commence again. 

Often at this period would his family in London have wanted 
bread, if the Primroses and the Harvey family had not been very 
kind to them. His wife did not long survive her return to her 
old communion. Setting out upon one occasion to attend a 
quarterly meeting in the North of England, to which he had re- 
ceived an invitation from some enthusiastic friends, he left Mary 
behind him laboring under what seemed a slight indisposition. 
It turned rapidly to a fatal illness. On his return to town he 
found himself a desolate and dreary widower. 

In three months after this event he looked ten years older. 
Now, for the first time in ali bis life, to speak was visibly a la- 
bor to him. He was the eloquent preacher and powerful minis- 
ter no more ; and when he was no longer actively serviceable tc 
19 * 


442 THE UNIVERSAL GENIUS ; 

the Meriting, the Meeting naturally ceased to employ and honor 
.aim as oetore. 

He was now advised to leave England for some time, and, in 
change or scene and of climate, to seek the repair of his spirits 
and his health. While he was hesitating what to do, the Socie- 
ty of Friend® in London were on the point of sending out a few 
of their most distinguished members to represent them at the an- 
nual meeting in Pennsylvania. Reuben was most anxious to be 
one of the mission ; but he was not among the chosen, which so 
offended and mortified him, that he abruptly left the Society, and 
was seen the next day in the streets of London wearing his old 
Babj’lonish garments. 

Not even tnis could alienate the ever-devoted Harvey. He 
took one of Mr. Medlicott’s daughters to live in his house. Mr. 
Primrose underto. k the maintenance and education of the other. 
A subscription was raised to place Chichester at a public school. 
The unfortunate father retired, with his aged mother, to the 
neighborhood of Hackney, where he tried to make out a liveli- 
hood by re-editing his travels and collecting those miscellaneous 
essays of which we have given the reader a specimen. When 
this failed, he published the prospectus of a course of lectures on 
mesmerism and other kindred quackeries ; but before the day 
came for the first exhibition, he was seized with a partial paraly- 
sis of his limbs, and continued a wretched invalid, generally 
creeping about London to the close of his unprofitable, yet ex- 
emplary, life. 

A very short time since, two students of the same college 
where Reuben Medlicott received his university education, saun- 
tering one fine evening on the banks of their famous stream, ob- 
served a melancholy man, with a frame broken down more by 
grief and malady than by years, his cheek hollow, his eye dim, 
and his lip quivering, moving feebly beneath the willows. Some- 
thing intellectual in his countenance, faded and worn as it was, 
together with an air of distinction about him, the remains of for- 
mer consequence, whether real or imaginaiy, excited their curi- 
osity and tempted them to address him. Feebly, but politely, 
he received and even encouraged their advances, evidently pleased 
to talk and perhaps flattered by their willingness to listen. He 
inquired about their studies, then spoke about his own formerly ; 
began by relating his college recollections, and at length pro- 
ceeded to unfold the history of his life. He surprised them by 
the abundance of his knowledge 'f many subjects, and even pro- 


443 


\ 

OR, THE COMING MAN. 

fessions ; delighted them by the variety and often the brilliancy 
of his language ; perplexed them by the extent of his experiences 
as a lawyer, an author, a traveller, a politician, a divine. They 
marvelled, as he talked, who the man could be ; seemingly pos- 
sessing every talent and all accomplishments, yet wandering there 
forlorn, needy, and unknown. The mood of his narration 
changed often ; now it was calm, now excited, but most frequent- 
ly it was in a tone of deep pathos, as if there was always some 
regret uppermost, some painful emotion even when he recalled 
his triumphs. At length he stopped suddenly in his tale, and, 
leaning on his staff, regarded his hearers earnestly, and bade 
them mark his counsel, for it was the province of age to iustruct 
youth. 

“ I have excited your admiration, young men,” he said, “while 
I only merit your compassion. You see in me a signal example 
of what little is to be done in this busy world, by much know- 
ledge, much talent, much ambition, nay, even by much activity, 
without singleness of aim and steadiness of purpose. For want 
of these two undazzling qualities, my life has been a broken 
promise and a perpetual disappointment. My views also were 
too exalted. I aimed too high and overshot the mark. Like 
Percy’s, my heart was great, too great ; and Harry’s farewell 
may be my soliloquy : — 

“ 111 -weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk I 
When that this body did contain a spirit, 

A kingdom for it was too small a bound, 

But now two paces of the vilest earth 
Will soon be room enough.” 

A tear rolled down the old man’s hollow cheek when he 
came to the last words of the quotation. The young men were 
greatly affected, and waited in respectful silence for him to re- 
sume his discourse; but he broke it off abruptly, with an ejacu- 
lation in so low a tone that it scarcely reached the ear. “ Alas,” 
he sighed, “what I might have been!” 

Not many weeks later the same old man was seen in one of 
the green lanes in the neighbourhood of Chichester. He took 
up his abode as a lodger in a small cottage, from which he only 
removed to lie in the same grave with his father in the quiet 
churchyard of Underwood, where an aged raven, hopping from 
an adjoining garden through a stately row of yews, croaked his 
requiem. 


THE END. 












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LIST OF VALUABLE BOOKS. 


1 


MOTHERS AND INFANTS; 

NURSES AND NURSING, 

Translation from the French of a Treatise on Nursing , Weaning, and 

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LIST OP VALUABLE BOOKS. 


3 


GOOD NEWS OF GOD. 

SERMONS, 


BY 

KEY. CHARLES KINGSLEY, 

Author op “Yeast;” “Alton Locke,” Ac., Ac. 

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4 


LIST OF VALUABLE BOOKS. 


VIOLA: 


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OR, 


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X 


LIVES AND EXPLOITS 




HIGHWAYMEN AND ROBBERS. 


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